Strong Enough

by M. Leighton

  M. LEIGHTON IS . . .

  “FREAKIN’ HOT!”

  —Nette’s Bookshelf

  AND “SERIOUSLY SCANDALICIOUS.”

  —Scandalicious Book Reviews

  PRAISE FOR M. LEIGHTON’S BAD BOYS NOVELS

  Down to You, Up to Me, AND Everything for Us

  “Scorching hot . . . insanely intense . . . and it is shocking. Shocking!”

  —The Bookish Babe

  “I definitely did not see the twists coming.”

  —The Book List Reviews

  “Brilliant.”

  —The Book Goddess

  “Leighton never gives the reader a chance to catch their breath . . . Yes, there is sex, OMG tongue-hanging-out-of-mouth, scorching sex.”

  —Literati Literature Lovers

  “Well, I drank this one down in one huge gulp . . . and it was delicious . . . seriously scandalicious.”

  —Scandalicious Book Reviews

  “Delicious . . . I stopped reading in order to grab a cold beer and cool off . . . The twists and turns on the plot line are brilliant.”

  —Review Enthusiast

  “OMG! It was freakin’ hot!”

  —Nette’s Bookshelf

  “Steamy, sexy, and super hot! M. Leighton completely and absolutely knocked [it] out of the park.”

  —The Bookish Brunette

  “Scorching hot . . . an emotional roller coaster.”

  —Reading Angel

  “I devoured it, and I’m pretty sure you will, too.”

  —For Love and Books

  “Prepare yourself to be blown away.”

  —My Keeper Shelf

  “I loved it . . . bring on the Davenport boys.”

  —Smexy Books

  PRAISE FOR M. LEIGHTON’S WILD ONES NOVELS

  There’s Wild, Then There’s You

  “Engaging and charismatic.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Will leave readers enthralled by the intriguing and emotional infatuation Jet and Violet share. This story is hot enough to start a forest fire, yet will keep readers cool, calm, and collected as they attempt to decipher the characters’ complicated personalities . . . This one is swoon-worthy.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  Some Like It Wild

  “Some Like It Wild left me feeling breathlessly happy . . . the exact same feeling I had when I read The Wild Ones. M. Leighton has done it again—she’s written the perfect, sexy love story!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Courtney Cole

  The Wild Ones

  “This book is worth every second I spent reading it. Ms. Leighton is a phenomenal writer and I cannot give her enough praise.”

  —Bookish Temptations

  “Hands down one of the hottest books I’ve read all summer . . . Complete with love, secrets, dreams, and hidden pasts! The Wild Ones is romantic, sexy, and absolutely perfect! Drop everything and read this RIGHT NOW!”

  —The Bookish Brunette

  “I can honestly tell you that this is one of my top books of the year and easily one of my new all-time favorites. I couldn’t put the book down.”

  —The Autumn Review

  “You will laugh, swoon, and even shed a few tears. M. Leighton knows how to write an amazing story. Get your copy of The Wild Ones today. You will not regret it.”

  —Between the Page Reviews

  “This book was one of the best books I’ve read this year. It may sound like just a love triangle on the surface but inside there’s so much more going on.”

  —The Book Vixen

  “One of the best books I’ve read this year so far.”

  —Sim Sational Books

  Berkley Titles by M. Leighton

  The Wild Ones Novels

  THE WILD ONES

  SOME LIKE IT WILD

  THERE’S WILD, THEN THERE’S YOU

  The Bad Boys Novels

  DOWN TO YOU

  UP TO ME

  EVERYTHING FOR US

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  This book is an original publication of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Copyright © 2015 by M. Leighton.

  Excerpt from Tough Enough by M. Leighton copyright © 2015 by M. Leighton.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY® and the “B” design are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  For more information about the Penguin Group, visit penguin.com.

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-18760-3

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Leighton, M.

  Strong enough / M. Leighton.—Berkley trade paperback edition.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-425-27946-5

  I. Title.

  PS3612.E3588S77 2015

  813'.6—dc23

  2015016257

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley trade paperback edition / August 2015

  Cover photo of couple by Miz Watanake / ImageBrief.

  Cover design by Leslie Worrell.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Praise for M. Leighton

  Berkley Titles by M. Leighton

  Title Page

  Copyright

  PROLOGUE | Jasper

  ONE | Muse

  TWO | Jasper

  THREE | Muse

  FOUR | Jasper

  FIVE | Muse

  SIX | Jasper

  SEVEN | Muse

  EIGHT | Jasper

  NINE | Muse

  TEN | Jasper

  ELEVEN | Muse

  TWELVE | Jasper

  THIRTEEN | Muse

  FOURTEEN | Jasper

  FIFTEEN | Muse

  SIXTEEN | Jasper

  SEVENTEEN | Muse

  EIGHTEEN | Jasper

  NINETEEN | Muse

  TWENTY | Jasper

  TWENTY-ONE | Muse

  TWENTY-TWO | Jasper

  TWENTY-THREE | Muse

  TWENTY-FOUR | Jasper

  TWENTY-FIVE | Muse

  TWENTY-SIX | Jasper

  TWENTY-SEVEN | Muse

  TWENTY-EIGHT | Jasper

  TWENTY-NINE | Muse

  THIRTY | Jasper

  THIRTY-ONE | Muse

  THIRTY-TWO | Jasper

  THIRTY-THREE | Muse

  THIRTY-FOUR | Muse

  THIRTY-FIVE | Muse

  THIRTY-SIX | Muse

  THIRTY-SEVEN | Muse

  THIRTY-EIGHT | Jasper

  THIRTY-NINE | Muse

  FORTY | Jasper

  EPILOGUE | Muse

  A special excerpt from Tough Enough

  PROLOGUE

  Jasper

  Seventeen years ago

  “What’s he gonna do, Mom?” I try to wriggle away from her, but she holds me too tight. I feel like something bad’s gonna happen, but I don’t know why. “Maybe I can make him not be mad. Let me go!”

  “Shhh, baby. It’ll be okay. You have to stay here with me or he’ll take you,
too.”

  My heart’s beating so hard it hurts, like it did that time when Mikey Jennings punched me in the chest. Not even my mother’s arms around me makes the pain go away, and her hugs usually make everything better.

  My eyes water as I stare out the window. I can’t blink. I’m afraid to. I don’t want to see what Dad’s going to do to my older brother, Jeremy, but I can’t look away either.

  The longer I watch, the less I can move, like my feet are glued to the floor and my arms are strapped to my sides. It feels like I can’t even breathe. I can only stare at the cold, gray water and the two shapes moving closer to it.

  I see Jeremy’s fingers clawing at my dad’s hand where it pulls him by his hair. It’s not doing him any good, though. Dad isn’t letting go. Jeremy’s feet sometimes drag along the ground, his ratty tennis shoes kicking up mud and grass, but my father never slows down. I can tell by the way his other fist is balled up that he’s mad. Madder than usual, maybe.

  Jeremy got in trouble at school again today. They called Dad at work instead of Mom, so she didn’t even know until Dad brought Jeremy home. By then it was too late.

  “No kid of mine’s gonna act like a monster. There’s something wrong with you, boy,” Dad was saying when they walked through the door. Jeremy was in front of him. Dad pushed him so hard, my brother fell and slid across the kitchen floor.

  There really is something wrong with Jeremy. The doctor said so. He said Jeremy needed medicine, but Dad doesn’t care. It just makes him mad, makes him lose his temper with Jeremy even more.

  I was standing at Mom’s side when Dad stopped in front of her. He put his finger in her face until it almost touched her nose. His eyes were that red color all around the edges like they are when he’s getting ready to whip Jeremy. “You’d better hope this little shit doesn’t turn out the same way.” He slapped me in the side of the head when he said it. It made my ear sting like a bee got me, but I didn’t even say “ouch.” I didn’t say anything. I knew better than to open my mouth. “One’s enough.”

  Dad went and grabbed Jeremy by the back of his shirt, pulled him up to his feet and threw him out the kitchen door. Jeremy fell again, but that didn’t stop Dad. He followed him into the yard.

  “Get up, you worthless little asshole,” he yelled. There was something not good in Jeremy’s eyes when he looked up. Then I saw him spit on Dad’s work boots. I knew he shouldn’t have done that. I knew it even more when Dad kicked him in the ribs. Now we’re watching my older brother get dragged away for punishment.

  Rather than stopping at the old stump that he bends Jeremy over to whip him, Dad keeps walking right out into the lake. He doesn’t even stop at the edge.

  My eyes hurt while I watch, but I can’t close them. Something about this time looks different. Feels different. Something about the hot tears streaming down my face tells me that this time is different.

  Dad’s boots splash through the shallow water. He drags my brother behind him like he does a bag of trash when he’s loading up the truck to go to the dump. Jeremy falls and gets back up, falls and gets back up. He’s fighting for real now. He’s kicking and hitting. I see his mouth open wide like he’s screaming, but I can’t hear it. The only thing I can hear is my heartbeat. It’s like drums in my ears, it’s so loud.

  Dad stops when the water is up to his waist. He pulls Jeremy to him. I see his face from the side, my father’s. It’s so red it looks purple. Veins are standing out all down his neck. My brother’s face is almost white, like he’s wearing ghost Halloween makeup. His eyes are dry, though. He stopped crying over the stuff Dad does to him a long time ago.

  Dad yells something at Jeremy, his mouth stretching so wide it looks like he could eat him. Like a snake, just swallow him whole. Jeremy just stares up at him with his pale face. Dad shakes my brother hard enough to make his head snap back, and then he dunks him under the water.

  I suck in a breath. I’ve never seen Dad do this before, no matter how mad he gets at Jeremy. Something in my chest burns while I watch Dad hold him under, like I can’t breathe either. Like air is stuck in there, burning. Just like I’m stuck in here. Hurting.

  I taste salt from my tears. I lick them away, ashamed to be crying. Something starts pecking the top of my head. A wet trail, like snail slime, slides down the side of my face. I wipe it away and look at my hand. It’s just water. Warm water.

  Tears. But not my tears. They’re Mom’s.

  I count. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. I wonder how long Jeremy can hold his breath. My head feels like it might explode.

  Four Mississippi, five Mississippi, six Mississippi.

  Air and sound push past my tight throat to make a weird garbled scream. It lands in the quiet room like a crack of thunder. It’s the only noise I make. It’s the only noise I can make.

  I watch Jeremy’s hands, beating against my dad’s wrist. Dad never budges, though, never lets up. His arm is straight and ruthless, holding my only brother under the water.

  Mom’s arms squeeze me tighter. It’s getting even harder to breathe.

  Seven Mississippi, eight Mississippi, nine Mississippi.

  I count, even though time stopped moving. When I get to twenty Mississippi, I start over at one, start over for Jeremy, to give him more breath. To give him another chance. But he doesn’t use it. He can’t. His time already ran out. Like his breath did. I know it when I see his hands drop away. They fall into the water and float, like there’s nobody attached to them. Like my brother just . . . left.

  Dad lets him go. Sort of pushes him out into the deeper water. Jeremy just drifts there, like he’s playing dead. Like he used to do when Mom took us swimming on summer afternoons when our father was at work.

  I don’t watch Dad walk out of the lake. I don’t watch him walk across the yard. I don’t even look up when he walks through the back door. I just watch Jeremy, waiting for him to move, waiting for him to wake up.

  “Get your purse. We’re going out to eat. The boys can have a sandwich here.”

  Boys? Does that mean Jeremy’s okay?

  I start toward the door, but Mom grabs me. “Jasper, be a good boy and get my purse for me, sweetie. It’s beside the front door.”

  Her eyes are different. They look scared and they make me scared, so I just go get her purse and bring it to her like she asked. When I hand it to her, she takes it and pulls me against her. I feel her arms shaking and when she lets me go, she’s crying. But she’s smiling, too, like she’s not supposed to cry. None of us are supposed to cry.

  “You sit right there in front of the television, okay? Don’t you move a muscle.” Her voice is warning me about something. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m afraid. She’s afraid, too.

  “Okay.”

  I turn on cartoons and sit on the couch until I hear Dad’s truck start. When I do, I get up and run as fast as I can, through the kitchen, out the back door and across the yard toward the lake.

  It’s raining now and the grass is slick. I fall twice before I can get to the edge of the water. When I do, I holler at my brother.

  “Jeremy!” He doesn’t move. He just floats on the surface like my green turtle raft does. “Jeremy!”

  I look back at the house and then back to my brother. I know nobody can help me. Nobody will stand up to my dad. Not even my mom. If I don’t help Jeremy, he’ll die.

  My hands are shaking and my knees feel funny when I step into the water. It’s so cold it stings my skin, like when I fell off my sled last winter and snow went up my pants leg. I couldn’t get it out fast enough. It was so cold it almost burned. But this time, I keep going no matter how much it hurts.

  When the water is up to my chin and my teeth are chattering so hard I bite my lip, I think about turning back. Jeremy is so far away, I can barely see him and I can’t catch my breath enough to holler for him.

  “J-J-Jer—” I try again.

  I paddle out farther. My arms and legs weigh so much I can hardly move them
through the water. It’s like trying to run in cold, thick soup. I fight to keep my chin up, gulping down the water that laps into my mouth.

  I swim and swim and swim, watching the back of Jeremy’s head until he’s close enough for me to touch. It’s raining harder now. Big, fat drops are splattering on the back of my brother’s neck, and it’s running down my forehead and into my eyes.

  I grab a handful of his dark hair and raise Jeremy’s face out of the water. His eyes are open, but they aren’t looking at me. They’re looking at something else, something I can’t see. I take his arm. It’s cold and feels kind of like that fish Dad brought home and made Jeremy skin.

  My stomach hurts and my eyes burn. I feel like somebody’s squeezing me around the middle, squeezing me so hard I can’t even cry.

  I take my big brother’s hand and I pull him toward me, toward shore. He floats pretty easy, so I swim a little and tug, swim a little and tug.

  After a while, it gets harder and harder to move, harder and harder to keep my face above the water. The shore, the grass, the back door of my house . . . they’re all getting farther away, not closer. I’m scareder than I’ve ever been before. Even scareder than that time Jeremy made me watch The Evil Dead.

  Jeremy seems heavy now, like he’s trying to drag me down every time I pull on him. “Swim, Jer, swim,” I mumble through a mouthful of water. “Please.”

  I go under. When I try to scream for help I know won’t come, water goes down my throat. I try to cough, but I can’t. There’s no air.

  I can see light above me and I use my heavy arms and legs to crawl toward it. When I finally get my face out of the water, I grab for my brother’s hand. I hold on to it tighter than I’ve ever held on to anything before, even my favorite G.I. Joe soldier.

  I paddle as fast and as hard as I can, pulling Jeremy behind me until I can touch the squishy bottom of the lake. I pull and tug and drag me and Jeremy to the shallowest part of the water and I roll him over.

  His lips are blue and his face is still so white. But it’s his eyes that scare me the most. They don’t look like he’s awake. But they don’t look like he’s asleep either. They sorta look like mine feel—scared. Like he saw something that made him want to hide, but he didn’t get away fast enough and now he’s just . . . froze.