Worth Every Risk

by Laine, Terri E.

  First Edition

  Copyright © 2018 Terri E. Laine & A.M. Hargrove

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in form or any manner whatsoever by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or a book review. Scanning, uploading and distribution of the book via the Internet or via any other means without permission is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support for the author’s rights is appreciated. For information address to Wicked Truth Publishing LLC.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Letitia @ RBA Designs | Romantic Book Affairs

  Contents

  1. Andi—Where It All Began

  2. Chase

  3. Andi—Present Day

  4. Chase

  5. Andi

  6. Chase

  7. Andi

  8. Chase

  9. Andi

  10. Chase

  11. Andi

  12. Chase

  13. Andi

  14. Chase

  15. Andi

  16. Chase

  17. Andi

  18. Chase

  19. Andi

  20. Chase

  21. Andi

  22. Chase

  23. Andi

  24. Chase

  25. Andi

  26. Chase

  27. Andi

  28. Chase

  29. Andi

  30. Chase

  31. Andi

  32. Chase

  33. Andi

  34. Chase

  35. Andi

  36. Chase

  37. Andi

  38. Chase

  39. Andi

  40. Chase

  41. Andi

  42. Chase

  43. Andi

  44. Chase

  45. Andi

  46. Chase

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About Terri E. Laine

  About A.M. Hargrove

  Stalk Annie

  Stalk Terri

  “Anger may in time change to gladness; vexation may be succeeded by content.”

  ―Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  One

  Andi—Where It All Began

  My brother Mark waltzes into the kitchen to grab a milk carton, drinking straight from it. Normally, I would have called him out on it. Today, I try my best to ignore him and continue to stare at the paper in front of me like holes would appear.

  “What’s got you pissed off?” he asks. When I don’t answer, his tone changes. “What’s his name so I can kill him?”

  I briefly meet his eyes, noticing he’s dead serious, which shouldn’t surprise me. Any guy who glances my way gets one warning that keeps him at a distance … as if I’m interested in any relationship with anyone. It might have been funny if he’d given me that look any other day but today. At my continued silence, he walks around to look over my shoulder. I’m not fast enough to close my book and cover the blank black and white paper-sized map of the continents in front of me.

  “Oh, that.” He chuckles. “They still make you guys do that?”

  I roll my eyes. He thinks he’s so mature since he’s in college and I’m only in high school.

  “It’s no big deal. Mom’s family is from Great Britain and Dad’s …” He trails off, beginning to get why this stupid project has me staring into space.

  I push back, the chair screeching over the floor. Then I’m out of it, because I don’t want him to see me cry about being adopted as a baby. I know it’s selfish of me wanting to know who my biological parents are.

  He calls my name, but I’m running out the back door, needing air. I can’t seem to catch my breath or see due to the tears blurring my vision. I run on instinct until my legs give out. My destination might not have been predetermined, but after I wipe my face, I’m not surprised to see where I’ve ended up. A swing dangles from a tree branch, mocking me, and I force myself to make the few extra steps to slump into it.

  The sky is dark with clouds and it will be a long, wet walk home if I can’t build up the energy to run back the way I came.

  I close my eyes, wishing I’d gone to my room instead and had hidden under the covers. Then I could sleep away the ache in my chest.

  “Hey.”

  I recognize the voice of the only other person outside of my family I’m connected with and snap my eyes open. Why does he have to be the most beautiful boy in school? All the girls think so. Even though I pretend not to notice, I see him, and not in a brotherly way. But it doesn’t matter. He’s also the only boy completely off-limits to me.

  “Hey,” I say, feeling stupid for coming to his house.

  He moves on silent feet to stand before me and remove strands of hair stuck to my tear-streaked face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  There’s something so fundamentally different in the way he asks versus my brother. Even though we’ve only ever just been friends, I’ve never had a lot of those.

  It’s so hard to open up to anyone when you feel like leftover garbage so easily tossed away. Without answers as to why my real parents abandoned me, that’s how I feel.

  I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”

  His fingers lightly trace my face from my cheek to reach my chin before gently lifting it so that I can’t ignore his gorgeous eyes.

  “You know I can keep a secret,” he whispers, as if anyone were close. Though no one is.

  I do know. Our brothers had sworn us to secrecy more than a few times over the years, like when they’d left us in kiddie movies to go hook up with their girlfriends in another one.

  “Tell me,” he says.

  I’m not sure if it’s something about him or the sheer need to get it off my chest, but I blurt out an answer.

  “It’s that stupid project.”

  I’ve held in my feelings for so long about that hole deep inside me, any longer and I might have imploded.

  He looks puzzled for a second until he pieces it together, nodding his head as he speaks.

  “The world history project, where we have to try to show as far back as we can how our ancestry down to our parents ended up here in Waynesville?”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s stupid.”

  My parents haven’t advertised that I’m adopted, though they never kept it a secret from me. I could easily use Mom and Dad’s family tree to do it. But as much as I hate to feel this way, I want to know who my birth parents are and why they gave me up. I haven’t told Mom and Dad this because I don’t want to hurt them. It’s not like I don’t love them. I do. But …

  “I can help you; maybe—”

  I shake my head and snap out the next words. “Why should I even care who they are when they obviously didn’t care enough about me?”

  My rant surprises us both because we stare at each other for long seconds.

  “I care,” he says so softly I’m not sure I heard him correctly.

  Then he bends down, and I let out a little gasp when his lips connect with mine. Because my mouth is still parted, his tongue easily sweeps inside. For the second time today, I’m at a loss for oxygen. I’ve never been kissed. Either guys don’t think I’m pretty enough or my brother has left a lasting impression in our town that I’m off-limits.


  I’m like a statue, still in shock, when he pulls back.

  “I’m sorry,” he rushes to say.

  It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Why is he apologizing? Does he regret kissing me?

  “Wait, no, I’m not sorry unless you are. Are you?” he quickly asks.

  Chase can have any girl he wants, so I let out a giggle at him fumbling over his words. I cover my mouth when he looks confused.

  “What’s funny?” he asks.

  He removes my hand, and of course I blurt out the first thing that pops in my head, which isn’t remotely funny. But then maybe he’s short-circuited my brain.

  “My brother is going to kill you.”

  He scrubs a hand over his head. “True, then my brother will resurrect me and kill me again.”

  I watch him pace as I puzzle the consequences of our actions. He abruptly stops and faces me.

  “I don’t care. You’re worth it.”

  He says the words casually without any clue how much they mean to me. And he’s never lied to me before, so I believe him.

  “You’re my best friend,” I say.

  And my only true one. How could I risk that?

  “I want to be more and everyone to know it.”

  I shake my head adamantly. “If we do this, we can’t tell anyone.”

  I’m not ashamed of him. In fact, I’d be the proudest girl in school for everyone to know he’s mine.

  He stops his forward progress as if he’d planned to kiss me again to seal the deal and realized something.

  “Why not?” he asks.

  I have two good answers for him.

  “One, I don’t want you to die.” He shrugs that off. “Two, if our parents get wind that we have feelings for each other outside of friendship, we will never get another moment alone.”

  The truth of my statement dawns on him. Our families spend a lot of time together.

  “Fine, a secret. But no other guys. It’s just you and me from now on.”

  Suddenly, the project is forgotten and I grin. “And no other girls,” I say saucily.

  “That’s a given.”

  Then he’s leading me behind the old barn. Every cell of my body is on heightened alert. I can hardly believe Chase is kissing me like I’ve imagined a hundred times over. I want to pinch myself to check that it’s real this time.

  But his lips are there, softer than I’ve imagined, and I gasp because I can’t breathe. His tongue slips into my mouth and I want to melt. This is so much better than any fantasy I’ve ever had. He tastes vaguely of mint. I can’t think beyond trying to mark this memory forever.

  Chase Wilde is mine. What will the girls think? But no one can know if I want to keep him. So this—us—will just be another secret I hold close, which I’m good at.

  Though I trust him with all of my heart, I hope he doesn’t flake out on me. I’m putting our friendship on the line, which means more to me than anything else. He’s my best friend. I don’t want to lose that. But this feels like so much more. It feels right. And he’s worth the risk.

  Two

  Chase

  Her voice whispers the time over the phone. My excitement mounts. It’s been days since we’ve been able to sneak away and be together. The mere thought of touching her silky skin makes my mouth water. But kissing her is another story altogether. Seeing her in school and pretending we’re just friends has turned into the most impossible mental torture a guy can take. How am I supposed to fake this much longer? We’ve been hanging out since we were twelve and tagging along with our brothers. She was the main reason I wanted to be with them. I’d take all the crap both our big brothers dished out just to be near her. I used to love nothing more than to watch her long brownish-blond hair fly behind her as she ran while I chased her, letting her believe she was faster than me. She never was, but it was the view I was after. And the sound of her laughter when she’d thought she’d beaten me.

  Each time I check the clock, only another minute or two has passed, and I have another hour to wait. Her parents are going out to dinner, and I plan to go over to her house where we will be alone. Then, all too soon, I’ll have to leave and things will be as they are now—back to the two of us pretending we’re just friends.

  I nearly leap into the car when it is time. When I get to her house, I’m careful to make sure no one is there. If my brother or hers ever get wind of us being together, they will both kick my ass. It won’t matter what she’ll say to defend me. She’s Mark’s baby sister and off-limits to me. Those were the rules drilled into me when I accidentally made an offhanded comment about how pretty she was.

  When I drive by to make sure the coast is clear, I park on the next block and then jog through the woods behind her house to her back door. The secret knock I use lets her know it’s me.

  She opens it and heaven stands in front of me—Andrea James, or Andi, the most beautiful girl in the world.

  “Hey,” she says. She always manages to look shy as though we’ve only first met.

  “Hey back. I’ve missed you.”

  “Me too.” She links our fingers and draws me into her house.

  “How much time?” I only ask so I can be gone in time for when her parents get home.

  “Around two hours if my parents don’t bow out early.”

  Then my arms wrap around her and I breathe in sunshine and flowers. When I let go, she leads me to the back stairs.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  She glances at the floor and then finally back up at me. “To my room.”

  “Wait? What?”

  “It’s just you’ve never been to my room. I thought—”

  She stops and starts to head to the den with her face in flames.

  “No, I want to go.”

  I have no idea what this means. We’ve never gone very far beyond kissing. She’s let me touch her, but not skin to skin. Now I want to see her room since she’s dangled the carrot in my face.

  When she makes no move either way, I cup her cheeks with my hands. “I’m good wherever you want us to go.”

  Her eyes are fathomless. But behind her armor is someone with a heart of gold. I love her, though I haven’t told her yet. She hasn’t said the words to me either. Then again, she keeps most things close to her chest. She never lets anyone see her vulnerability, except occasionally me.

  A second later of saying nothing, I reassure her the best way I can using my thumb to brush over her hand that’s clasped in mine.

  Then she’s steering me toward the stairs. My heart is thudding so loudly, I’m sure she can hear.

  When she opens the door to her room, I stop, not sure what I expected. It’s neat and orderly with very little that screams this is her space. What catches my eye is a stuffed bear I’d won for her out of the claw machine a few years ago when we hadn’t been old enough to think about hooking up. It’s the only thing on her bed besides her pillows. I walk over and pick it up.

  “You kept it,” I say, turning to face her.

  She’s stock-still in the doorway, nerves cracking her expression. She nods stiffly, no doubt expecting some sort of judgment. So I grin to hopefully put her at ease. I place the bear back down and make my way to the second thing that snagged my attention. It’s a corkboard filled with pictures from the instant camera she got for Christmas a year or two ago. Most are pictures of her parents and Mark. But in the center is me, captured when I’d been flushed from a serious round of kissing. It was the first day I’d snuck over, and we made out for what felt like hours. Good thing it was dark and the only thing shown is my face.

  “No one has asked about that?”

  She shakes her head, still rigid at the door.

  I walk over but leave some distance between us, sensing her fear of rejection—or maybe she’s afraid of what might happen alone in her room.

  “We can go back downstairs,” I say.

  There is nothing I wouldn’t do for this girl.

  Hesitantly, her head moves slightly side to si
de, and slowly she looks at me with her big blue eyes. Ever so softly, she says, “Please take the weirdness out of this by kissing me.”

  I step in and cup one hand around her neck and the other around her waist, drawing her close. When we kiss, everything disappears. I hardly notice I’m walking us backward to her bed. The backs of my knees hit the mattress and I sit, leaving her standing in front of me. I widen my legs and pull her in between them, not breaking our connection.

  I’m not sure how it happens, but somehow in our urgency to get as close as possible, I end up flat on my back with her on top.

  At the moment, my fingers skim the bare skin of her waist. She stops and sits up, straddling me. I want to squirm, sure she’s about to notice how hard I am and rush to get off me.

  Instead, she looks like she wants to say something. I lift one of her hands from my chest and brush my lips over the tips of her fingers. “What is it?” I ask, trying to coax the shyness out of her.

  “It’s just … Do you want …?”

  We haven’t talked about it, but these are words I’ve only dreamed of. I never thought she’d be the first to bring it up. “Are you sure?” I ask.

  My question is two-pronged. I don’t want to assume we’re thinking the same thing, and if we are, I want her to know she has an out.

  “Yes.” When her face blooms with color, I know it’s real. Her sure smile spreads warmth deep into my chest, behind my ribs, heating every part of me.