by Jayce, Aven
THE NOVA TRILOGY
Boxed Set
FALLEN SNOW
DESERT STAR
SUNSET RUSH
AVEN JAYCE
THE NOVA TRILOGY
Copyright © 2014 Aven Jayce
Cover and Book Design by Triple J Marketing
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
and incidents are the product of the author’s
imagination and are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
or events, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
No part of this book can be reproduced, scanned,
or distributed in any printed or electronic form
without permission. Purchase only authorized
editions. The only exception is by a reviewer,
who may quote short excerpts in a review.
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From the author: “I enjoy damaged characters; those with issues, in need of saving, who make bad choices and can be abrupt, nasty, or full of angst. For some readers the content may be considered dark or taboo. We live in a crazy world where the unbelievable doesn’t necessarily mean the impossible. Bad things do happen. That should give you a hint that this is not an idealized trilogy full of sweet puppies and unicorns. Happy reading.”
FALLEN SNOW
Book One of The NOVA Trilogy
Table of Contents
Fallen Snow
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Desert Star - Table of Contents
Sunset Rush - Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
It’s April and a light drizzle is falling from the grey suburban Philadelphia sky. I push my Big Wheel around the yard, pretending that my brother Mark is in the passenger seat laughing. We live on a dirt road, with a dirt driveway, so it’s not easy to ride the thing without someone pushing from behind. TV advertisements make the pedal toy look like it moves at an amazingly fast speed, but without pavement or a hill, the Big Wheel often sits motionless in our front yard. I continue pushing the red and yellow plastic toy over to our oak tree next to the driveway. I park the useless vehicle under the tree and look up, searching for the branch that’s closest to the ground. The tree is a place of escape from my mother, and even though I’m forbidden to climb it without my brother’s help, I’m a stubborn, unmanageable, and savage little kid who will always disobey (her words, not mine). I reach up, but can’t quite get my hands close enough to the branch. I jump up a few more times, finally catching hold of the bottom limb, pull myself up, and climb into the tree. There are no leaves this time of the year, only buds, so I’m completely exposed. The front dining room window of our home has a clear view of the tree, and for that reason alone I know I have only a short amount of time to enjoy the view before my mother sees me.
Scanning the yard, I discover our two black pugs sniffing each other’s bottoms. I giggle and let my legs dangle down over the branch, then howl and coo to distract them.
“Sophia Elizabeth Jameson, get down from that tree right this minute!” my mother screams, running toward me.
“Oh shit.” My mother pulls me down and grabs me by the hair; yanking me roughly inside the house.
“You little piss-ant. Sit there on that chair and don’t you dare move a muscle. I’m so tired of you not listening to me, and having to hear your foul mouth each day.”
A tear streams down my face as my eyes brim with sadness, humiliation, and pain. Water wells in my eyes and I start to sob.
“I d-didn’t d-do anything,” I stutter, trying to catch my breath while my body convulses and snot runs out of my nose.
“Shut up. I’m sick of your mouth,” she repeats.
My brother walks into the kitchen and sees that I’m in distress. He approaches me and raises his finger, placing it inches from my face.
“Ha-ha, you got in trouble. Ha-ha. Ha-ha,” he teases, waving his finger in front of me.
“Go away Mark!” I scream and stomp my feet.
“God dammit,” my mother shouts, throwing the kitchen towel down and grabbing me by the arm. She pulls me up the stairs, smacks me across the back of the head, pushes me into my bedroom, and slams the door. I hear her walk down the stairs and demand that my brother go out and play.
“Sophia,” she calls up to me in an eerily sweet tone. “I just wanted you to know that I don’t love you.”
Love? What does that even mean? She walks away and I sit on the floor with my head against the wall. I pound against it, bitter about my father’s absence. Where did he go? I miss him. I feel so alone.
CHAPTER ONE
“She physically hurt you?”
“Yes, physically and emotionally,” I reply, as my psychologist takes notes.
I’ve been coming here for a few months, and the two of us have hardly made a dent in my childhood. My father suggested this practice, and I agreed that it was time to finally talk to someone about all this baggage. Now I’m starting to realize that it may take years to even begin to unravel my past.
Dr. Rosen’s office is painted a beautiful, soothing blue. A dark mahogany desk rests in front of the far wall of the room, with matching bookcases to either side. A five-foot fiddle-leaf fig plant towers next to the window overlooking the St. Louis skyline. She has three, deep brown leather chairs, and an odd small settee that seems somewhat out of place. In the middle of the room is a golden brown, plush rug, matching the pillows tossed onto each chair. I’m sure some consideration has gone into the decor to try to provide a feeling of tranquility for her patients. On top of Dr. Rosen’s desk sits the usual, a computer, phone, files, and two frames containing photos of her children. There’s also a vase of fresh flowers that fills the room with a lovely scent.
“I might have children one day.”
“What made you think of that?”
“I noticed the photos of your children on your desk. They’re very beautiful.”
“Thank you, Sophia. They’re my niece and nephew. Someday I may have kids as well,” she replies with a warm smile.
“If I had a girl I’d name her Violet, and I’d name my son Galaxy.”
“Violet and Galaxy?” she raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “How did you come up with such unique names?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I want my children to stand out from the common crowd of Jacobs and Emilys, plus I read somewhere children who have unique names have a better chance of being successful later in life. I mean, come on, Sophia is such an everyday name. I didn’t have a chance right from the start.”
A timer goes off and Dr. Rosen looks at her watch. “We need to talk about this in greater detail, especially the story you just told me about your mother expressing that she didn’t love you. When are you free next week?”
***
I ride down the elevator feeling a little disappointed in my session. I need to focus on the issues instead of always trailing off in different directions. Fuck, I hope I’m not bipolar like my mother; flying from one thought to
the next, impatient, and easily irritated all the time. And kids? What was I thinking? I don’t want to have kids. I’d be a horrible mother. Besides, I’m not done satisfying my sexual fantasies. I wouldn’t be able to pleasure others or myself with a kid in the house. Talk about lack of privacy. Plus, a kid would eat away at my time. I’m not ready to give up any of that for anyone, including someone who once lived inside of me and didn’t pay rent. God, now I am starting to sound like my mother. I need a drink.
As I step off the elevator, I hear my name called out by the one familiar high-pitched voice that I love.
“Sophia! I’m so glad I found you. Evan gave me directions to your shrink’s office, but I didn’t think I’d catch up with you in time.”
“Mera, no need to yell,” I whisper, pulling her into a hug. “The entire lobby doesn’t need to know that I just met with my psychologist.”
“Shrink,” she says, pulling away. “You look terrible. What were you talking about this time?”
“The usual. Sex, lack of motivation, and my so-called family from hell.”
“Oh my God, have you seen that My Cat From Hell show?”
“Yep, I’m going to name my son Galaxy.”
“What son?” She takes my hand and swings it as we walk along the sidewalk.
Mera and I were roommates in college. She knows more about me than anyone else, and I can count on her to always be by my side at a moment’s notice.
Her hair is long and dark brown, always with a full body and shine that reminds me of one of those phony-looking, silky shampoo commercials. She keeps her bangs long, making it difficult for anyone to see her stunning Irish blue eyes. I notice she’s wearing an old, knee-length black dress that used to be mine. I shrunk it one day and couldn’t squeeze into it again, but it flows freely on her.
“What are you staring at?”
“You. You look beautiful in that dress and I’m jealous.”
“Well, you’d still be wearing it if you hadn’t done laundry that one night after we got home from the bar. You could barely stand and there you went, down to the laundry room to wash your clothes. What possessed you to do such a thing, and at two in the morning no less?”
I’m silent for a moment, not knowing the answer to that myself. I can be a bit of a nut at times.
“I guess I needed to be clean.”
“Well, duh. Plus, if you weren’t like six feet tall and still growing it might still fit you.”
“Five feet, nine inches, and growing out, not up.”
“You need the weight, Babe. In college you looked anorexic. You were just skin and bones. At least now you look like a curvy vixen. At your height and weighing only… how much do you weigh?”
“One-twenty-five.”
“Yeah, you’re hot. Long brown hair, warm brown eyes, small nose and full lips. You’re like a young Angelina Jolie. ‘Growing out,’ as you put it, has turned you into a sexy model instead of a skeleton in the back corner of a science classroom.”
I smile at her words, continuing to hold her hand as we head to lunch. We walk along Washington Avenue, finally stopping at The Sportsbook Bar and Grill where they serve the best white bean hummus plate in the entire country. I can tell by Mera’s face that she’s in the mood for steak, and will have nothing to do with my usual light fare. Her eyes widen when she smells the meat, and I see her moistening her lips with her tongue. She grew up on a farm in Kansas, and I’ve heard her explain to a handful of boyfriends that she’s a big meat and potatoes kind of gal.
St. Louis is unseasonably temperate for October, and we decide to enjoy the beautiful weather outdoors, having our meal and a beer on the side patio. I take a seat, leaning back in the chair to look up at the blue fall sky. I notice a small cloud and smirk at its shape.
“What are you grinning at?”
“That cloud looks like a vagina,” I respond.
Mera can’t help but look up; scanning the sky for the one I’m referring to.
“Do you think we can get through a meal without you mentioning your obsession with sex and cloud shapes?” she asks, still searching for it in the sky.
“Sure, let’s talk about the plan for Saturday.”
Mera looks down, crosses her legs and places her hands in her lap. “Does he know you’re moving out yet?”
“No, I plan on telling him when I get home today. I may need a second beer in order to do it. He’s going to be upset. I may have to duck from whatever he picks up and throws. Sometimes he has a raging anger like a momma bear protecting her cubs.”
“God Soph, he’s not that bad. Remember, I met Evan when you did, and I’ve never seen him throw anything at you, even when you were a total bitch to him.”
“You’ve also never seen him naked or use the bathroom with the door open, but those things also take place in our house, so why is it so hard to believe that he has issues with anger management?”
Mera smiles and her eyes glisten, obviously lost in a memory.
Intrigued by her playful expression, I have to ask. “So what are you daydreaming about this time?”
“I have seen him naked, it was quite nice.”
“What was nice, his body, or it? Wait…when did you see him naked?”
“Last Thanksgiving, when you went home to visit your family in Philly, we kind of hooked up. It was nice. He’s got a pretty big package down there, don’t you think?”
I smile, thinking about all of the guys Mera and I have shared over the years. We’ve usually discussed an attraction and the desire to pursue the other’s man before it actually happens. As far as I know, this is the first time she’s kept anything from me.
“I’m surprised you didn’t tell me. I had no idea you wanted to sleep with him.”
Mera looks at me with her mouth turned down. “I’m sorry. I went over to feed your cat because I thought Evan would forget, and he walked out of the shower with just a towel wrapped around his waist. I was going to tell you when you returned, but you were a complete spaz after dealing with your mother. When you told me what happened between you and her, I sort of forgot about Evan. You know you mean the world to me, and I lost myself trying to pick you up and out of that depression. Evan was the last thing on my mind.”
“You don’t have to apologize. We agreed that if you or I ever come across a keeper that he will immediately be off limits. Evan didn’t fall into that category, so he was fair game. We both know that my relationship wasn’t heading past a sexual friendship with him anyway. Plus, I’m grateful that I had you by my side when I returned from Philly, and I think you’re awesome for feeding Lewis; he’s a good little cat. Anyway, the thing with Evan is no biggie. I’m just surprised you never mentioned it.”
“How is it that we found one another? Do you think the University’s housing department knew that we were both nymphomaniacs when they paired us together freshmen year?”
“I don’t remember writing nympho on my housing application,” I say with a grin. The waitress places our food on the table and I request a second beer.
“So Mera, if you saw him naked, did you also see him take a dump? He likes to do that right after sex.”
“Oh God, please, I’m eating my steak. I take it back, feel free to talk about cloud shapes all you want.”
We laugh and finish our lunch, enjoying the afternoon with one another until I can no longer avoid the conversation with Evan. He’s actually a pretty decent guy, but I’m bored out of my mind with him, and we never really connected other than in the bedroom. It’s time.
***
“If you’re moving out, then I’m going to slide inside of you one last time. One for the road, as they say.” Evan lays me on the bed and I watch him undress. His skin is tan from painting the exteriors of houses all summer, and his lean body is finely honed like a long distance runner. He unbuttons his jeans, sliding them off to reveal a pair of grey underwear. His erection is obvious, and his face seems somewhat pained by its imprisonment. He places his hands on the bed, approa
ching me on all fours as if I’m his prey.
I’m wearing a cotton skirt and can feel every inch of him through the fabric. His hips sink and his rock hard shaft begins to rub against me. He moves playfully, poking his dick all around. Clothing stops the penetration, yet his stiff erection feels like he could plow right through the fabric at any moment.
“Are you sure you won’t miss this?” he asks in a low voice, nibbling at my ear.
“Perhaps we should stop.”
“Do you want me to stop talking?”
“No Evan, it turns me on when you talk. I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’ll miss certain things, like sex with you in the early afternoon, but our relationship is over.”
“Do you think you might want to have sex with me after today? I mean, in a few weeks. Do you think you might come back and want to do this again if one of us needs it?”
I pause for a moment and try to think of the best response. It is a possibility. I don’t want to be in this relationship, but if I’m out in the world hunting again, and nothing hopeful shows up for weeks, I may need to come back to soothe my cravings until another guy comes along. At least I know he’s clean, and he seems to be handling the break-up pretty well. Plus, he’s asking the question, which means he wouldn’t mind being used now and then either.
“Yes, I might come back for sex,” I finally respond.
Evan looks at me with a grin; his brown hair framing his face.
“Well alright then, let’s get this show on the road.”
“Oh God,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It would be a lot easier to stay wet and ready if you didn’t say such cheesy-ass things.”
Evan reaches down to the bottom of my skirt and wraps his hand over my knee. His fingers drift up my leg until he touches my underwear. Gently, he tugs the cotton to the side and places a finger over my opening. There’s slight pressure as he slides a finger inside, then a second. I moan and he lets out a sigh.
“You feel wet and ready to me, even with my cheesy-ass comments,” he laughs, his eyes scanning the length of my body. “When was the last time we did this anyway?”
