A Stone in the Sea

by A. L. Jackson

  Knew it was my fault. I should have been more aware. Should have known those scavengers would be out there lying in wait.

  I hit the walkway at the bottom of Shea’s front porch steps when an ominous figure climbed out from the backseat of the Mercedes on the opposite side of the car from us.

  Arrogant and contentious.

  Most of his body was obscured by the car, his blond hair slicked back. He ducked a fraction as if sheltering himself from the storm rumbling above.

  Fierce squalls of wind whipped through the air, diving in low to touch the ground, the world whipped into a frenzy of forewarning.

  Awareness slammed me and I skidded to a stop.

  Martin Jennings.

  What the fuck?

  It was the same second Shea saw him there. For the briefest second she stalled, too, like her mind pitched and lurched through shocked confusion as she attempted to catch up to what was happening.

  I was lost with her, my senses blurred and cluttered, the hatred I had for this asshole at the forefront as I tried to add it all up, searching for the sum.

  Shea seemed to solve it before me.

  She cried out—a vicious scream that came from the depths of her in the same second she leapt forward, claws bared, no doubt going in for the attack. She broke into a run behind Claribel just as the woman was reaching the end of the walk.

  Both of the officers whirled around with the intent to restrain Shea, but I was quicker, the need to protect her spurring me into action.

  I caught her by the waist, my voice straining with the demand, because God knew I wanted to charge every bit as badly as she did. “Shea, no. You’re going to make it worse.”

  She kicked wild legs into the air as I held her back against my chest. She clawed at my arms locked around her, struggling to break free, screaming at Jennings, “You bastard! You bastard! How could you do this? How could you?”

  My mind reeled.

  Martin Jennings.

  Shea knew him.

  She knew him.

  It made no fucking sense.

  My hold increased when he smirked across at us from over the top of the car. But it was like he didn’t see her at all, like he didn’t care he was stealing Shea’s daughter, that pretentious pride and arrogance cast fully on me.

  “You were warned you’d regret fucking with me.”

  Dread throbbed through my veins as awareness threatened to take hold.

  Claribel Sanchez opened the opposite rear door of the Mercedes, trying to wrangle a thrashing Kallie into the car seat already secured in the back.

  Kallie was terrified, crying again and again, “I want my mommy…I want my mommy!”

  Shea screamed through the tears bottling up her throat. “You bastard, I will kill you…I will kill you.”

  Jennings chuckled. “Oh, it’s so very nice to see you again, Delaney Rhoads. I can see how much you missed me.”

  Delaney Rhoads.

  Erratic, the world crashed down around me as that name penetrated.

  It was only a vague memory from about five years ago.

  That rising country star surrounded by scandal and the way the young girl had just dropped out of sight. The uproar and rumors surrounding it, because she’d disappeared in almost the same breath as her first album hit the top of the charts.

  I’d had enough scandal in my own life that I’d paid little attention, giving little regard to nonsense that was happening in Tennessee.

  Of course, Tennessee was where the bastard had discovered Sunder in that shitty bar about six months later.

  Oh God.

  Kallie’s father. He wasn’t dead. She was his…he was… Fuck. The man I despised more than anyone else on this earth.

  I’d always been terrified I would break Shea.

  I was wrong.

  It was Shea who was going to break me.

  She kicked her legs, still waging her own futile war, the one that demanded she do whatever it took to protect her daughter.

  But there was no question the battle fought tonight was lost.

  Torment flooded us.

  Rising at our feet.

  Climbing our bodies.

  Waves riding up over our heads.

  Drowning.

  Drowning.

  Drowning.

  Claribel Sanchez closed the door, cutting off the sight of Kallie.

  Shea wailed, “Kallie…Kallie!”

  Martin Jennings tossed a cocky grin my direction before he slipped into the back seat beside the little girl I wanted to call my own.

  The little girl who’d breezed through me like the calmest whirlwind, slowly staking claim until she’d taken every inch of me.

  The car pulled from the curb and drove into the night.

  Shea leaned her head back and released a blood-curdling cry into the air.

  A clap of thunder deafened our ears.

  Agony.

  Agony.

  Agony.

  And I held her, vowing in her ear, “We will get her back. I promise you, we will get her back.”

  This girl who’d lied to me. The one I didn’t even know.

  Sebastian and Shea’s story continues in Drowning to Breathe, June 22, 2015

  To get the first peek at the entire first chapter of Drowning to Breathe two months early, text “jackson” to 96000 or subscribe to my mailing list http://bit.ly/ALJacksonNewsletter

  Thank you so much for reading A Stone in the Sea! I hope you fell in love with Sebastian and Shea’s story the same way I did.

  If you’ve read anything by me before, you know I don’t usually do cliffhangers. Leaving this book off here was a difficult decision for me, but I knew in my gut I couldn’t fit their story into the pages of just one book without rushing it, and their full story deserves to be told. You can expect a lot more intensity and sexiness in Drowning to Breathe, but underlying it all, I hope to delve into the deep, emotional bonds of these two characters.

  If you’d like to discuss A Stone in the Sea with other A.L. Jackson readers, please consider joining The A.L. Jackson Reader Hangout

  http://bit.ly/AmysAngels

  To get free books, exclusive excerpts, giveaways, and all the latest news, be sure you subscribe to News from A.L. Jackson

  http://bit.ly/ALJacksonNewsletter

  For short but sweet updates on releases and sales (no more than 2 texts per month), TEXT “jackson” to 96000

  Turn the page to read the first two chapters of Come to Me Recklessly, The Closer to You Series, Book Three, coming from Penguin/Random House April 7, 2015

  Come to Me Recklessly

  By A.L. Jackson

  Prologue

  There are few things that hurt so much as a broken heart.

  It’s physical.

  Intense.

  Real.

  It doesn’t matter which way you slice it, analyze it, or add it up, you’ll always come up with the exact same sum. The worst part is there is no antidote for this affliction.

  They say time mends all things.

  I say they are liars.

  Maybe it subdues, burying it beneath all the new memories we make, tucked under the burdens and joys and new experiences that life layers on over the years.

  But that broken heart?

  It’s always right there, lying in wait. Ready to crush you when you’re slammed with that errant, unexpected thought.

  But nothing could have prepared me for this—what it would feel like to look up and find him standing inches from me.

  From the moment we met, he always had the power to bring me to my knees. I should have known his control over me would never diminish or dim.

  I should have known it only would intensify.

  Maybe I should run.

  But somewhere inside, I know he’ll never let me get far.

  Chapter One

  Samantha

  My phone rang with the special chime, the one reserved just for my brother, Stewart. . I rummaged around for it in my purse while I was b
rowsing through the aisles of Target. The grin taking over my entire face was completely uncontrollable. I just couldn’t help it. Talking with him—seeing him—was always the highlight of my day.

  Running my thumb across the screen, I clicked the icon where his message waited. I’d never even heard of the app until he’d convinced me I had to get it, teasing me I was living in the Stone Ages, which to him I was pretty sure would date all the way back to 2011. I couldn’t begin to keep up with all the tech stuff he loved.

  I held my finger down on the new unread Snapchat message from gamelover745.

  An image popped up on the screen, his face all contorted in the goofiest expression, pencils hanging from both his nostrils as he bared his teeth. I choked over a little laugh. The joy I felt every time I saw his face was almost overwhelming as it merged with the twinge of sorrow that tugged at my chest.

  Quickly, I shoved the feeling off. He told me he couldn’t stand for me to look at him or think of him with pity. I had to respect that. He was so much braver than me, because seeing him sick made me feel so weak.

  I forced myself not to fixate on his bald head and pale skin, and instead focused on the antics of this playful boy. The little timer ran down, alerting me I only had five more seconds of the picture, so I quickly read the messy words he scrawled across the image.

  I’m sexy and I know it.

  On a muted giggle, I shook my head, and I didn’t hesitate for a second to lift my phone above my head to snap my own picture. Going for my silliest expression, I crossed my eyes and stuck my tongue out to the side.

  So maybe the people milling around me in the middle of the busy store thought I was crazy, or some kind of delusional narcissist, but nothing inside me cared. I’d do anything to see him smile.

  I tapped the button so I could write on the picture.

  Love you, goofball.

  I pushed send.

  Seconds later, it chimed again. I clicked to receive his message. This time he was just smiling that unending smile, sitting crossed legged in the middle of his bed, radiating all his beauty and positivity, and that sorrow hit me again, only harder.

  Love you back, he'd written on the image.

  Letting the timer wind down, I clutched my phone as I cherished his message for the full ten seconds, before our snap expired. The screen went blank. I bit at the inside of my lip, blinking back tears.

  Don’t, I warned myself, knowing how quickly I could spiral into depression, into a worry I couldn’t control, one that would taint the precious time I had with him.

  Sucking in a cleansing breath, I tossed my phone back into my purse and wandered over to the cosmetics section, browsing through all the shades and colors of lip gloss. I tossed a shimmery clear one into my cart, then strolled into the shampoo aisle.

  Apparently I was in no hurry to get home. It was sad and pathetic, yet here I was, twenty-three years old and passing away my Friday night at a Target.

  Ben texted me earlier saying he was going out to grab a beer with the guys and not to wait up for him. All kinds of warning bells went off in my head when I realized him leaving me alone for the night only filled me with an overwhelming relief. That realization hurt my heart, because he’d always been good to me, there for me when I was broken and needed someone to pick up the pieces, making me smile when I thought I never would again.

  But with Ben? There had always been something missing. Something significant.

  That flame.

  The spark that lights you up inside when the one walks into the room. You know the one, the one you can’t get off your mind, whether you’ve known him your entire life or he just barreled into it.

  Was it wrong I craved someone like that for myself?

  Maybe I’d be content with Ben if I’d never felt the flame before. If I’d never known what it was like to need and desire.

  But I had. It’d been the kind of fire that had raged and consumed, burning through me until there was nothing left but ashes. I’d thought that love had ruined me, until Ben came in and swept me into his willing arms.

  He’d taken care of me, a fact I didn’t take lightly. I honored and respected it, the way Ben honored and respected me.

  So maybe I never looked the same or felt the same after he’d destroyed something inside of me. But I’d survived and I forced myself to find satisfaction in that, willed it to make me stronger instead of feeble and frail.

  I tossed a bottle of shampoo I really didn’t need into my cart, but it smelled all kinds of good, like vanilla and the sweetest flower, and today I didn’t feel like questioning my motives. In fact, I tossed in a body wash for good measure. I rarely treated myself, and I figured I deserved it. The last four years had been spent working my ass off, striving toward my elementary education degree at Arizona State University, and I’d finally landed my first real job a month ago.

  Pride shimmered around my consciousness. Not the arrogant kind. I was just…happy. Happy for what I had achieved.

  I bit the inside of my lip, doing my best to contain the ridiculous grin I felt pulling at my mouth.

  Finally….finally…I’d attained something that was all on me.

  Ben was always the one who took care of me. But he also had a bad habit of taking all the credit. Like my life would fall apart without him in it.

  Slowly, I wound my way up toward the registers. I needed to get out of here before I drained what little I had in my checking account with all my celebrating.

  I rolled my eyes at myself and squashed the mocking laughter that rolled up my throat.

  Yep, livin’ large and partying hard.

  My life was about as exciting as Friday Night Bingo at the retirement home down the street.

  But hey, at least my hair would smell good and my lips would taste even better.

  Scanning the registers, I hunted for the shortest line, when my eyes locked on a face that was so familiar, but just out of reach of my recognition. Curiosity consumed me, and I found I couldn’t look away.

  She was standing at the front of her cart, her attention cast behind her. Obviously, searching for someone.

  I stared, unabashed, craning my head to the side as I tried to place the striking green eyes and long black hair. She was gorgeous, enough to make any super model feel self-conscious, but she was wearing the kind of smile that spoke a thousand welcomes.

  Two feet in front of her, I came to a standstill, which only caused her warm smile to spread when her gaze landed on me. My attention flitted to the empty infant car seat that was latched onto the basket before it darted back to her face. My stomach twisted into the tightest knot as recognition slammed me somewhere in my subconscious, my throat growing dry when her name formed in my head before it swelled on my tongue. “Aly Moore?” I managed, everything about the question timid and unsure. Well, I wasn’t unsure it was her. There was no question, no doubt.

  What I wasn’t so sure about was if I should actually stop to talk to her. My heart was already beating a million miles a minute, like a stampeding warning crashing through my body, screaming at my limbs to go and go now.

  Still, I couldn’t move. Short gusts of sorrow were a feeling I was well-accustomed to, dealing with Stewart and all the sadness his illness brought into my life.

  But this?

  Pain constricted my chest, pressing and pulsing in, and I struggled to find my absent breath.

  God, she looked just like him. I always did my best to keep him from my thoughts, all the memories of him buried deep, deep enough to pretend they’d forever been forgotten, when in reality, everything I’d ever shared with him was unrelentingly vivid.

  Seeing her brought them all flooding back.

  His face.

  His touch.

  I squeezed my eyes, trying to block them out, but they only flashed brighter.

  God.

  “Samantha Schultz.” My name tumbled from her mouth as if it came with some kind of relief. She stretched out her hand, grasping mine. “Oh my gosh, I can’t
believe it’s you. How are you?”

  I hadn’t seen her in years. Seven, to be exact. She was only two years younger than me, and she'd always been a sweet girl. Sweet and smart. Different in a good way, quiet and shy and bold at the same time. I’d always liked her, and some foolish part of me had believed she’d always be a part of my life. I guess I’d taken that for granted, too.

  But that’s what happens when you’re young and naïve and believe in promises that turn out only to be given in vain.

  I swallowed over the lump in my throat and forced myself to speak. “I’ve been good. It’s so great to see you.” It was all a lie wrapped up in the worst kind of truth.

  I dropped my gaze, my eyes landing on the diamonds that glinted from her ring finger where she grasped my hand, and I caught just a peek of the intricate tattoo that was woven below it, like she’d etched a promise of forever into her skin.

  A war of emotions spun trough me, and I wanted to fire off a million questions, the most blatant of them jerking my attention between the empty infant carrier and her ring. My mind tumbled through a roller coaster of memories as it did its best to catch up to the years that had passed.

  “Oh my God…you’re married? And you’re a mom.” I drew the words out as I finally added up the obvious, and a strange sense of satisfaction at seeing her grown up fell over me. It seemed almost silly, thinking of her that way, considering she was only two years younger than me. Now the years separating our ages didn’t seem like such a big deal. Not the way they had then, when I’d thought of her as just a little girl, a hundred years and a thousand miles behind me. It seemed now she’d flown right past me.

  With my words, everything about her glowed. She held up her hand to show me the ring I’d just been admiring, her voice soft with a reverent awe. “Can you believe it?” She laughed quietly. “Some days I can’t believe it myself.”

  The joy filling her was so clear, and I chewed at my bottom lip, both welcoming the happiness I felt for her and fighting the jealousy that slipped just under the surface of my skin. Never would I wish any sorrow on her, or desire to steal her happiness away because I didn’t have it myself. I wasn’t vicious or cruel. But seeing her this way was a stark reminder of what I was missing.