Book Two in The Breathe Series
Judd’s POV
Turn the page for a sneak peek
FOR YEARS I’VE FELT LIKE I was stumbling from one life altering event after another. Just as my life finds some sense of normality, disaster strikes and I’m back to dealing with some bullshit that leaves me wondering why.
It wasn’t always like this. Some of my first memories are of Mom and Dad playing with us in the backyard, taking us to the water park in the summers, big Christmas’s at my Grandma and Grandpa’s house, Easter egg hunts at church and all those typical family functions that you learn to love as a kid.
However, the one thing that those moments have taught me is that all good things come to an end, and it did, starting with the night my dad made it clear to us that we were simply a mistake. That’s definitely not something a kid dreams of hearing.
I was nine the night it happened. Funny thing is that my parents didn’t even know we were in the room.
Jake, who is a year younger than me, shared a bedroom with me while Tristan, the oldest of us three, was fortunate enough to have his own room. Jake and I also shared a fear of the dark. Mix that with our childhood love of television and it was a recipe for two sleepless boys.
After Mom would put us to bed, we’d bounce back up and sneak into the living room, crawling down the hall in complete stealth mode. Slithering along the floor with nothing but the quiet sound of our stomachs scraping the carpet, we would settle in behind a recliner against the wall at the entrance of the living room.
The sounds of the TV greeted us along with soft laughter from Mom and Dad who was as usual, all wrapped up with one another on our fluffy brown couch. We figured out pretty quickly that once we were all tucked away in bed, they would fire up the movie channels after carefully typing in their secret parental code.
Once we got to our rendezvous point, Jake and I would lie on our bellies, feet kicked up behind us while we watched along with movies that my parents deemed unsuitable for young eyes. Some of the films would leave me dragging my brother back to our bedroom before either of us saw too much.
That night, however, they were watching one that we had seen a couple of times already. It was still like sneaking into a movie theater without paying, so we basically did it for the excitement and the thrill of getting caught. We would laugh and talk about it for days like we had just gotten away with breaking the law.
This particular time, we ended up breaking the one rule we had set for ourselves during operation ‘Crawl in Movie’; we fell asleep. Not just Jake; not just me; nope, we both fell flat-on-our-faces-passed-out-sawing-logs asleep.
I’m not sure how long we had laid there wisped away in dreamland and I’m not even sure what transpired between movie time and us waking up, but I do know I woke up to all hell breaking loose.
My head bolts up from the carpet to the sound of glass shattering and a piercing scream. Pushing up to my hands and knees in a hurry, I look around the recliner to get a view of what is happening; that’s when Dad’s voice begins to boom, like cracks of thunder.
“I can’t do this! I can’t! I won’t!”
Mom pulls herself up off the floor by latching onto the arm of the couch. Dad has a crazed look in his eyes while impatiently pacing back and forth a few feet away in front of her. Why doesn’t he help her? I can’t even pinpoint everything I see, but to me, they both look scared; frightened.
“Scott, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” she pleads, tears streaming down her face.
“Hailey, do you know what this is doing to me? Do you even care?!” he shouts out.
Looking around, I survey the situation and see a turned over lamp with shards of thick, amber glass littered across the floor. Mom is finally standing, but seems unstable, leaning some of her weight onto the coffee table which used to house the lamp.
“I just don’t think I can do this. I’ve questioned this for years.” He places his hands to his side and looks down with Mom staring at him in confusion.
“What do you mean?” she barely gets out between the tears as she lowers herself onto the edge of the couch.
He snaps his head back up and squints his eyes in an angry glare.
“I mean I can’t do this anymore,” he motions between her and him. “You know what? I never wanted this in the first place. We got stuck together when you got pregnant . . . you know that.” He sighs and Mom dumps her head into her lap, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Wait, I don’t understand. I thought . . .” Mom manages to get out in a quivering voice.
I have no clue what Dad is talking about either, but I want so badly to go hug mom. I hate seeing her hurt. He knows she’s been getting clumsier lately, she’s been to the doctor several times, but I just don’t understand why Dad doesn’t go over to tell her it’s alright.
They assume I don’t notice little things like her losing her balance and the way her legs don’t seem to cooperate as they once did. Another thing I haven’t missed sight of is how Dad prefers to keep us all at a distance lately. He watches her when she cries, he even looks sad for her, but he doesn’t hug her like me and my brothers do. I don’t understand it and it bothers me more than they see.
The other day, out of the blue, Mom ran to her room after one of her spells. Tristan was loading the dishwasher and Jake was taking out the trash, but she ran right past me in the hall as I went to help my brothers with our chores. Once her quiet sobs filtered through the air, I sneaked back and peeked through the crack in her door. She sat on the bed with her face buried in the pillow crying. Dad sat on the floor in front of her with a sad expression on his face, just watching as she shouldered the pain alone. A little while later she came out pretending like nothing was wrong with a painted on smile.
“God, I have been trying to make this work. That’s why we had Judd, but then you got pregnant again, and it just seems like too much. You know, I never even wanted kids, Hailey. Did you know that? Do you even think we would have stayed together if you wouldn’t have gotten pregnant with Tristan?”
Watching the entire scene unfold, what he is saying finally starts to sink in. Is he saying we are a mistake?
Looking up through tear streaked eyes her voice comes out shaky and confused, “Where is this coming from? I don’t understand where all this is coming from. You could have left years ago, if that were true. You’re just scared and I am, too,” she huffs out. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Scott.”
I look back over to Mom and see that she has stood up and is inching closer to Dad, her hands out as if she is trying to tame a wild stallion.
“Hailey, no, please! I just realized I never wanted this and now with you being sick . . . I’m just . . . I’m out!”
Mom runs to Dad, tripping over her feet in the process and grabs onto his arms before she tumbles to the floor again.
“You don’t mean that . . . you don’t! I know you’re just scared, but I know you can do this. I know you can,” Mom’s voice softens and I crane my neck to watch. “We’ll face this together.”
She has her arms against his chest and for a moment I think everything is better; that the fight is over, but it isn’t.
Grabbing her by the arms, he shoves her away, yelling with more anger than I’ve ever heard; the sound of a stranger’s voice, not my dad’s.
“It’s over! This is over!” He points his fingers towards the hall where all our rooms are located and then lowers his voice; almost too quiet for me to make out. “This was a mistake . . . they were a mistake and this is not the future I want.”
Confusion and disbelief fill my mind and I begin to rise up to make my presence known. I need to defend my mother, but suddenly hands grip the back of my shirt and pull me back into the hall. Tilting my head, I see Tristan’s face above me, crumpled into a scowl.
“Get back to bed, now,” he says in an angry tone.
My first instinct is to protest, but one look into his eyes and I know I better let this go. Something about the way he con
tinues to look over the edge of the recliner I’m hiding behind and the storm of rage in his eyes tells me I better listen.
After I am within the safety of my bedroom, he rushes back out and down the hall without another word. What had been only the raised voice of my father with a background melody of my mother’s hurtful sobs is soon joined by Tristan’s amplified hollers. His furious tone rises over Dad’s and immediately muffles out Mom’s cries.
“Don’t you ever . . . ever touch her or shove her! Get the hell out of here! We don’t want you anymore than you want us! We don’t need you!” The anger in his voice sends chills down my spine. “Leave, just Leave!” his voice blares out.
“Tristan . . .” Mom’s voice calls out as I lean in the doorway of my room, trying to strain to see what all is going on. “Honey, you don’t under . . .”
“Get out I said,” Tristan’s shrill tone vibrates through me, bringing tears to my eyes.
What’s going on? Why is everyone yelling at each other?
Something crashes in the other room and I flinch against the door frame, fear gripping every corner of my soul.
“Get the hell out of here,” he yells out again, his voice laced in rage.
Turning my body, I slowly slide down the wall beside my door much like the tears that now drip down my face. With my body planted into a ball on the floor, I think over everything that I heard, feeling lifeless and drained of emotion. Pushing my palms over my ears as more noise ignites from the living room, I look up at the ceiling not understanding, yet not sure that I want to.
A few minutes later, a muffled slamming noise penetrates the protection of my hands over my ears and then all goes quiet. Assuming it was the front door, I race to my window; watching just as Dad climbs into his car and speeds out of the driveway.
My heart hammers in my throat and I wonder when he will be back. Maybe he is leaving to cool off. With that single thought, his words come back to me, “I’m done . . . I’m out,” “I never wanted this,” “It’s over,” “They are a mistake.” He didn’t want us . . . he doesn’t want us? He’s not coming back? Rejection, grief and sorrow engulf my heart as my mind spins out of control in a tornado of questions and doubt.
The door eases open behind me and I watch as Tristan carries Jake in. Folded in his arms like a big baby, I realize that somehow he managed to stay asleep.
I remain quiet, holding back a river of tears as Tristan lays Jake into the bottom mattress of the bunk bed. His jaw is tense and his eyes are red as if he had rubbed them raw before coming into the room.
“Tristan, is Dad coming back?” I ask quietly, not wanting to wake Jake and involve him in this daunting catastrophe.
Tristan pulls his arms out from beneath Jake’s back, stands straight and levels me with a firm glare that I’ve never seen on his face before. Suddenly my brother looks older; bitter and angry.
“Judd, go to bed. You’re up way too late and you should not have been out of bed anyways,” he says calmly and then slowly walks to the door, shutting it without another look my way.
I turn back to the window and touch my hand to the cold glass, my crushed heart pleading that this whole night is only a dream. It’s at that moment . . . that solitary second, that I recognize the significance of what just happened. This is the last time I will ever see my dad. We’re on our own.
And it was.
After that night it was one thing after another; jumping around from apartment to apartment trying to make ends meet, scrambling to find any odd job to help Mom put food on the table and then losing my grandparents. All the while, Mom was getting sicker and sicker. Just when it seemed like life was getting back on track and we settled into a nice house, one of which me and my brothers still question how on earth we were able to afford, that’s when it hit rock bottom. With only a few months until I turned sixteen, I found myself in a whirlwind of responsibility that ended with us laying Mom to rest.
Immediately following her death, life spiraled out of control for me. Through an endless stampede of casseroles and baked goods being brought to our door, Tristan, Jake and I, who had always been close growing up, went in three different directions. That first day, there was no hugging or comforting words spoken between us; just silence and solitude until finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I always envisioned myself staying strong for the sake of my little brother when Mom died, but I completely went in the opposite direction. It wasn’t Tristan that ran off and got plastered drunk and ended up sleeping with some random girl he had never met. No it wasn’t him; it was me.
I woke up the next morning in someone else’s bed, in a strange house, with a pounding sensation in my head, foggy memories of the night before and some mystery girl draped over me.
A couple used condom wrappers, our bare bodies and her clinging to me was all I needed to realize I had given away something in my drunken stupor that I couldn’t ever get back. It wasn’t that I was hoping to hold onto my virginity forever or anything, but I expected it to be with someone I cared about and I sure didn’t think it would be before I even finished going through puberty. How could I be so irresponsible; so stupid?!
That’s part of the reason why I didn’t let myself get all hung up on high school romances, partying and messing around. I made myself a promise that night to never be so reckless and foolish in the heat of the moment. That one evening was enough carelessness for me to last a lifetime.
From that point on, I stayed busy with football, kept my grades up, worked and continued to try to catch my breath from a sequence of events the led to me being one of three brothers trying to raise ourselves.
I’d catch my breath between being a positive role model and supportive friend to my younger brother.
I’d catch my breath from struggling with nonstop training and studying to ensure a scholarship, along with working every available second to help make ends meet, that it left me with very little time to enjoy being a teenager.
I’d catch my breath between remembering every moment that I had watched Mom’s ALS get crueler and harsher until eventually her worn out body had to give up the fight.
Now, catching my breath has become second nature, along with having to pick up the pieces of Tristan’s life.
Every minute felt as though I was drowning, sinking, being buried alive; until I saw her.
That’s when catching my breath no longer felt like a struggle; it no longer felt painful. It reminded me that I was alive and I was finally able to look at my life and realize that every turn, every crook in the road and every road block had led me to this moment . . .
It had led me to her.
I have to give a huge thanks to my husband. He has endured countless hours and nights of me reading page after page to him, asking for his opinion a hundred times a day, listening to my stressed-out rants and stood there by me, believing in me the whole way. Thank you, babe, for everything! I wish I could say that now you can get some sleep, but we have too many more books to go.
Thank you to my mom, which has been my biggest fan. You have been my positive reinforcement along the way and I could not have done this without you. Talk about a Breathe Series, I think I actually held my breath until you told me you loved the book.
To some wonderful supporters: Cori Wray, Brandy Kirn and Jen Martin. You all kept me going from pep talks and lunch dates with Cori to hour-long phone calls with Brandy and long walks while I vented with Jen. Your faith in me has been unyielding and in times that my stress and frustration got the best of me each of you were able lift me back up. Thank you. A special thanks to my best friend, Cori Wray, who was the first person to ever read this book. Thank you for helping me believe that I can do this.
To my editor, Jeremy Thompson, thank you for all your wonderful advise from purple skinny jeans to colorful phrases like “flick of the tongue” and “knee him in the buttons”! This book leaped hurdles and bounds with your help! Where would I be without you?! Writing a book comprised of one big paragraph, tha
t’s where! Btw, did you notice all the exclamation marks; just for you!!
A big thanks to Karen as well, for follow up edits.
Thank you to a great group of Beta Readers: Carrie Travillion, Tara Dameron, Brandi Ackerman, Karrie Zschille, Brooke Reynolds, Kelly Smith, Sara Kiplinger, Jaclyn Keller, Zack Koeller, Jason Wray, Darla Her, Ashley Shoen, Cori Wray and Heather Pope. You all helped me so much with fabulous input, keen eyes, advice, opinions and support. You truly helped breathe life into this book. A special thanks to Karrie Zschille, who went above and beyond with late night proofreading, advice and words of encouragement. You rock, girl!
Thank you to Kari for a stunning cover design, Mandy for gorgeous photos and for pulling double duty to be the perfect Alyssa and Julio for being the perfect Judd. You all truly brought my characters to life.
Also thank you to Ashleigh Pettis for taking some great author photos . . . beautiful work as always.
Most importantly, thank you Lord for giving me the courage, capability, determination, mindset, confidence and talent to put into words, what I can only see as signs from you that I need to finally take a risk and write a book.
Last but not least, I’d like to pre-thank everyone who takes a chance on this book. I hope that you all love it, enjoy it and fall in love with the characters like I have. They are truly in my heart and I think everyone should take the time to get to know them. There’s more to come, so stay tuned.
Wendy Wilson is an independent author. As a little girl on through adulthood, she has dreamt of writing and has finally put that dream into action with the release of her first book in a series of novels called The Breathe Series. She enjoys spending time with her family, hanging with her friends and reading. She also has a passion for running and has found it is the perfect time to create and think up more exciting plots and characters to add into her books. She currently lives in Chaffee, Missouri with her husband, two adorable sons and two cats.
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