by Stacy Borel
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Other Works by Stacy
Ever Enough
Always Enough
Touching Scars
The Core Four Series:
Bender
Slider
Cutter
Shut Out
Fixed Infatuation
Stacy Borel
Copyright © 2019
Cover and Interior Design by Kassi Snider of Formatting by KassiJean
Editing by Jenny Sims
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only licensed authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Camden
*Crying on the baby monitor*
ROLLING OVER, CAMDEN LOOKED at the clock and saw it was only 3 a.m. With a groan, he leaned over and kissed Keegan’s shoulder. “I’ve got this one. You stay in bed and get some sleep.”
His beautiful wife of three years opened one eye, then closed it.
“Mmm, are you sure?”
Sitting up, he scrubbed his hand down his face. The wailing on the monitor got louder. “Yeah. You had her earlier.”
Keegan looked over with sleepy eyes and smiled sweetly. “You’re the best. I’d high-five you, but my arm isn’t working.” Camden chuckled at her early morning humor. “Let me know if you need any help.”
“I’ve got this.”
Standing up, he scratched his bare chest and padded out of the room to the adjoining pink and mint green nursery. Camden had wanted a touch of beige and blue, but mostly because he was still in shock he had a daughter and not the little boy he’d always pictured himself with. As he approached the crib, he smiled down at the little girl who had completely changed his life.
“Shhh. It’s okay, Ashton.” He picked her up and held her to his chest. “Daddy’s got you.”
She was so small that his large hand spanned her entire back. She felt like a tiny bag of potatoes. Camden cooed at his daughter while he patted her butt and gently bounced her in his arms. The feel of her cool cheek against his skin never failed to make his heart feel like it could burst at the seams. She didn’t take long to settle. Putting his nose against her hair and his lips on her forehead, he kissed her and breathed her in. He had no idea how much he’d love the smell of a baby, but it became his favorite thing in the world.
Carrying her out of the room to the kitchen, Camden proceeded to warm her a bottle. He moved around the house with her as if he’d been doing it for years. Part of their nightly routine was sitting and watching an hour of ESPN to catch up on sports, while he explained the ins and outs of all things baseball, football, and basketball. Ashton never stayed awake long enough to see the highlights, and he often ended up talking to himself, but he didn’t care. If there was a clean diaper and full tummy baby curled into him, nothing else mattered.
While Camden desperately missed his sleep, holding his five-month-old daughter was everything to him. She was the spitting image of her mother, though her hair was a few shades darker. He’d rather be a walking zombie than miss a moment of her growing up. Despite the late hours with her, these moments were Camden’s very favorite. When the house had fallen quiet, and it was just him and his little girl. He looked down at her cherub rosy cheeks, and perfect little pout, and he knew how it felt to be completely selfless for another human being. He often found himself wondering how he’d lived so many years without her.
Ashton was every bit his. He’d protect her with his life, and if anybody ever hurt her, they would have to answer to him. He cherished every single hair on her head, and she deserved to be treated like the princess she was. That is, if he ever allowed any guy close enough to his daughter to begin with. The very thought of undeserving eyes looking at her made his mouth turn down and jaw work overtime. All the sweet nothings he whispered in the hours before the birds chirped, the ones he spoke while her eyelids fluttered in a deep sleep, would never be truer.
“You are the most beautiful girl in the world, Ashton. Shhh, Mommy is too, but you’re slightly ahead.” He kissed her again, and she squirmed. “Nobody deserves you. But as long as you stick by me, kid, you’ll always be safe.”
Ashton ... 20 years later
“OKAY, EVERYONE. THURSDAY, WE WILL touch on macroeconomics and how the government has affected the work force and financial market. Please bring your textbooks with you as well. I’ll be assigning a paper that will be due in two weeks.”
A collective groan sounded through the room as everybody stood and began to pack up their things. I shoved my notebook into my bag and glanced up at the clock. I had about two hours before I had to be at work, which meant I had time to grab a coffee and maybe get home and change into a different pair of jeans. Walking out of my political science class, I was greeted by chirping birds, warm sunshine, and my cousin Foster leaning against the opposite wall. He grinned slyly at me.
“Hey, cous, how was all things political?”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Annoying and opinionated.”
“Huh, sounds like you.”
I bumped his shoulder as we began to walk. “Shut up.” It wasn’t unusual for Foster to be outside one of my classes every once in a while. I preferred to knock out school in the morning so I had the rest of the day to do whatever I wanted. Plus, that was more convenient for work. It just so happened that he was an early riser, so what better way to spend the morning than to come and bug his favorite person.
Me.
“I found someone,” he stated emphatically.
I glanced over at him as we made our way through the common grounds. I was definitely going to need a shot or two of espresso to manage the rest of the day, and there was a stand in the middle of the yard. “Yeah? Is she your type?”
He huffed. “Please, ain’t no girl going to hold me down.”
I giggled. “You sound like a bad rap song. Forever the player.”
“You’ve got it. I was referring to my ad for a roommate.”
“I didn’t know you made flyers already.”
“Yeah, some chick at the office supply store said she could print me up some while I looked a
round. Bonus, she did it for free too.”
I curled my lip. “Did she give you her number while she was at it?”
When he didn’t reply, I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. I exhaled dramatically. “You never cease to amaze me.”
He reached over and tugged on a lock of my hair playfully. “Don’t be jealous. I’m sexy, and the girls like me.”
Foster had done this before. He got bored in his two-bedroom apartment and went in search of a roommate. Last year, he allowed someone we’d all known since high school to come live with him, thinking it was the ideal situation. Turned out, sometimes friends weren’t really friends, and they tried to take advantage of someone else’s kindness. Poor Foster came home one day to find his television missing from his wall, a watch stolen, and some cash he had in his sock drawer gone. So for nearly ten months, he’d lived alone. He was a better person than me because he decided to give the roommate thing another try, but this time with a stranger. I would have moved in, but it wasn’t a good idea. Girls in and out. It would probably ruin our close relationship.
“Well, go on then. Tell me all about the new roomie.”
I noticed him looking over his shoulder at a group of females. He winked at one of them, and she blushed. The blond one, of course. I would scold him if he were anyone else, but I was so desensitized to the behavior that I’d begin to worry about him if he wasn’t being an overzealous flirt. Girls loved him, and I knew he was attractive. I mean, as much as he could be for being my cousin. It was hard to make that kind of call when I’d seen vomit coming from his nose during a particularly bad case of the flu once, or when our parents kept us both under lock and key while we simultaneously had chicken pox. Let’s just say oatmeal baths together at the age of six were a blast. I even watched him and my other cousins film each other doing the dumbest shit imaginable in the hopes that the show Ridiculousness would discover them and they’d become famous.
Attractiveness was relative.
He brought his attention back to me. “You’ll meet him maybe later if you stop by. I don’t think he’ll be in a lot, which was why I picked him in the first place.”
I walked up to the lineless coffee cart and got myself a double shot latte. “Oh yeah, why’s that?” I was about to pay when I asked Foster if he wanted anything.
“Black coffee, two sugars.” I paid the attendant and snagged a packet of sugar for myself. We started toward the parking lot. “Thanks.” He raised his cup in the air. “Anyway, he’s a mechanic or some shit like that.”
I raised a brow. “Ew, really? You’re letting a mechanic move in with you?”
He chuckled. His brown hair was blowing in the wind. “Why do you say ew?”
“Aren’t they dirty or something?”
He barked out a laugh. “Why would you think they are dirty?”
I kicked at a rock on the ground and adjusted my backpack on my shoulder. “I dunno. I guess the ones I’ve seen on TV look like sweaty, tatted-up grease monkeys.” We approached my little Nissan Sentra my dad bought me as a graduation present. “Need a ride?”
He stopped near the driver’s side door. “Nah, I parked in the next lot over. You need to stop watching all that crap you do. He’s not VH1 garbage or some idiot from The Bachelorette. I wouldn’t bring some nasty guy to live with me so he can trash my apartment and leave pizza boxes everywhere.” I had a fleeting pang of guilt. I shouldn’t be so quick to judge, and I knew he was being more cautious this time. He paused while I dumped my backpack in the passenger seat. “Although, I’m excited to see what kind of ladies he brings home. I may not be into dudes, but he’s pretty good looking.”
I had just taken a sip of my coffee, and it singed the tip of my tongue. “So now the mechanic is hot?”
“I didn’t say hot. I said good looking. You know, guy to guy. It’s not like we don’t know when another man is attractive. We just don’t go oohing and aahing over each other like you females do. Oh my god, your hair is perfect. What is that lipstick color? It looks amazing on you. You wear the Kylie line too? Girl, me too.” He waved his hands around in a feminine fashion and spoke in a high-pitched tone. I chortled at his ridiculousness. “If guys talked to each other that way, I think the races as we know it would be extinct. Women want attractive, brute types who scratch their balls and slap their woman’s ass in appreciation.”
“Are hot girls and getting laid all you think about?”
Foster blinked his brown eyes at me. He looked so much like aunt Macie. “Is there anything else besides money?”
I grabbed the handle of my car door. “The girls you chase after are not women. The day a woman finds you will be the day the world spins on its side and all breathing things stop what they are doing to take part in the moment Foster Brooks is off the market.”
“Never happening.”
Just as I slid inside and shut my door, he stepped out of the way. I cracked the window, and called out, “You’re in denial. Mark my words, it’ll happen.” He flipped me the bird as I backed out of the parking space.
Foster wasn’t just my cousin. Being only one year older than me, he was also one of my best friends. He was Uncle Dodger and Aunt Macie’s son, along with Tristan, who was three years younger than me. I have two other cousins, and while we are all close, Foster is the one I related too through the years. Having a dynamic family tree meant we were loud, opinionated, and almost always overbearing, but we loved each other very much.
It would be sad when we weren’t all in the same area and couldn’t get together for dinners at my grandparents’ house. Those gatherings were my favorite times. After a week or two of work, school, social life, and general life, things culminated into this massive ball of stress, but the moment I walked through my grandparents’ doors and smelled the home cooking with the sports channels blasting in the background, I was immediately at peace.
It was home. It was where my heart was, and family was everything to me.
In high school, I was an exceptional student. I graduated fifth in my class with scholarships to Washington State, a few other random schools, and here. I stayed because of family; it was all I knew. Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of moments when I wanted to run away from home and go live where I could be somebody new, try new things, and be a little less … studious. But I was young and had plenty of time to make life-altering changes. What ultimately made my decision were my parents.
They would have a hard time if I were gone. More specifically, my dad. He thought he wooed me to stay by telling me horror stories of dorm living and being a poor college student. Frankly, they only made me more curious, but I knew I couldn’t handle the hurt on his face if I told him I was ready to live on my own. My dad liked to think he still knew better than me and that he had a million and one lessons to teach me.
Regardless of the frequent lectures that he claimed were out of love, as of lately, his iron fist was squeezing me a little too tight. I understood he meant well, but this was my life, and I couldn’t even experience it like all the other people my age. At twenty years old, I hated having to explain myself when I came home late from a party or answer his questions about the alcohol I never partook in. I had to practically give a PowerPoint presentation as to why I deserved to have my curfew removed.
I adored my dad, and I loved him, but he was overbearing sometimes. I wondered what it would be like to breathe air untouched by the Brooks family. We were a family that was recognized by most. It felt like there wasn’t a person that didn’t know who were.
On the drive home, I blasted my favorite Kenny Chesney song with the windows rolled down. Tests, and school, and work were all a part of my demanding days. Having the wind whipping through my hair was freedom from it all, even if for only a few minutes while I drove across town.
When I pulled into my driveway, my dad was mowing the lawn shirtless. I looked over at the neighbor’s house and the house next to it. As expected, the single women were sitting outside like a bad episode of Desperate H
ousewives, sipping on their sweet tea or lemonade and drooling. Except my dad wasn’t the little Hispanic teenager Eva Longoria was sleeping with … and well, they were certainly not Eva. One was in her mid-fifties and newly divorced. I’d call her the shy one. I didn’t know her name because she had moved in only six months ago, but I heard her alimony checks were enough to keep her comfortable for the rest of her life. The one who lived directly next door was Ms. Stevens. I knew her as the woman who never left her house without costume jewelry, her hair perfectly coiffed and pinned in place, but she was aggressive.
I sneered at Ms. Stevens as I climbed out of my car. She didn’t even glance at me or see me standing there. She was too busy looking at my dad like he was an ice-cream cone she wanted to lick to cool her off on the hottest summer day. This particular woman had no regard for the fact that my dad was married and frequently stopped by with baked goods or a casserole. Even when my mom would answer the door, Ms. Stevens would ask for my father in a sugary sweet voice. Her accent often reminded me of one of the characters from Fried Green Tomatoes.
The hussy.
Was it wrong that I had a dream I hit her on the back of the head with a frying pan and served her up with the best barbecue in the state of Georgia? I really do watch too much television. I blamed my grandma for making me watch that one.
My mother was a kind and patient person. She handled women throwing themselves at my dad left and right much better than I would have. Where she would take the baked goods with a smile and thank them for being so kind, I would have taken the muffins or cake and said to get her Betty Crocker ass to get off my porch.
“Kill them with kindness, Ashton,” she’d always say.
My dad shut off the mower the moment he saw me get out of my car. “Hey kiddo, how was class?”
I brought my attention to him and smiled. “It was good. Work called and asked if I could come in early for someone.” I paused and gave him a look he was quite familiar with. “Should I go upstairs and get you a shirt?”
