by A. D. Roland
A Year of You
By
A. D. Roland
A Year of You
© 2012 A. D. Roland
“Rain” © Breaking Benjamin
The right of A. D. Roland to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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Other books by A. D. Roland:
Winterborn
Plagued by vivid, violent hallucinations, a recovering drug addict desperately seeks the truth. Are her waking nightmares a product of her self-medicating, or dire supernatural warnings?
Tamsyn Hallert, an artist, exists in a vicious circle of addiction and recovery, fueled by her husband Sean’s long-time secret affair. The affair ended in his lover's bizarre suicide, but not before she left a surprise on Tam and Sean’s doorstep—Kevin, the son Sean never knew he had.
Sean moves them to the country, to his familial home near the crumbling Wraithborne Estate, the massive old house with a terrible mythos. The twisted attempt to save their marriage only makes matters worse as Sean’s obsession with his dead lover deepens, and Tam’s grip on reality grows more tenuous. A horrific plot to summon the dark spirits that possess the Estate comes to light, with Tam, Sean, and Kevin in the center of it all. Will Tam be able to save her family, or will the lure of the spirits’ promises be too strong to resist?
Dark Consort
Ruler of a withering kingdom, Ceron has come to terms with the fact that the only way to save his country is to carry on with one of his ancestors' worst traditions--the kidnapping and sacrifice of a mage to revive the dying magic of Aichinn. Through his short reign, he's fought hard to bury his hateful legacy and create a new, peaceful rule. The demons that have plagued his bloodline, however, have other plans. Vile plans. They want blood and war, death and destruction. Even as he fights them, tooth and nail, he realizes he can't fight them forever.
Kaeda just can't get it right. A healer mage in the lush, bountiful Northlands, no matter of training seems to awaken more than a trickle of her magic. When the mysterious visitor from a southern state offers her an escape from the looming banishment, she takes him up without a second thought. Unfortunately, the stranger isn't who he says he is.
He's the dreaded King of Nightmare and Shadow, the Lord of the Goblins, the Dark King Ceron. And he wants her. Despite being kidnapped, imprisoned, and deceived, Kaeda discovers she's meant for so much more than what Ceron intends. The very land of Aichinn embraces her, and her natural abilities flood forth. The dying kingdom has a chance to live again. With the awakening of the land's magic, Ceron's demons rise in full force, determined to wield the burgeoning power as their own.
Kaeda is Ceron's only chance to save Aichinn--if he doesn't destroy her first.
Reader beware!
The following novel contains scenes that could be considered triggers. A Year of You is about a woman’s struggle with a past that includes child abuse and rape. There are situations in the book where the heroine is subject to abuse of various natures. It is not glorified or portrayed gratuitously in anyway--it is a natural part of the story as an obstacle Mattie must overcome.
Thanks to Stella Price for reminding me how awesome this book was, way back when, and how amazing it could be. A huge thank-you to the original readers of A Year of You--I really hope you like this updated version.
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
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Chapter One
“This isn’t going to work.”
“Relax, Mattie.” Kirkland ran his hands through his short, perfectly-rumpled hair, utterly at ease. Mattie resisted the urge to smack the asshole up-side his supermodel-pretty head.
“Don’t tell me to relax, K.” She sighed and adjusted her slightly-too-snug skinny jeans one more time. “You’re not the one having to con a family into believing you’re a long-lost daughter.”
K shook her gently by the shoulders. “You are a long-lost daughter. Just not the one they’re looking for. The old woman invited you, babe.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your babe.”
K’s hand shot up and grabbed her throat. He held her tight, his fingertips digging in. Heart hammering, Mattie froze.
“You are mine, Mattie. You always will be.” He leaned close and forced a wet, tongue-heavy kiss against her lips. “You can run across the world, and I will still find you. You can’t hide from me, babe.” With his other hand, he squeezed her left breast painfully hard.
A family with a bunch of little kids walked past. The mother pushed her baby into a man’s arms and held her phone up. “Let her go, asshole, or I’m calling the cops!”
K dropped his hand and Mattie stepped back. The truck behind her left her with nowhere to go. The woman hadn’t moved from the end of the parking space. Her husband was already on the phone with somebody. Judging from his tone, Mattie guessed it was the airport police.
“You’re going to do this, Matilyn. You think I’m hurting you now or that I’ve hurt you before, it ain’t nothing compared to what I’m going to do if you screw this up.” He knocked her head back against the window of the truck. Stars spun in her eyes, and a headache flared up immediately.
“Make it easy for yourself. You go in there, find out what the old woman wants, and get my money. You’ve got enough on her now to get it all. I’m sure the newspapers are dying to hear about Ruth Ellen Carruther’s bastard granddaughter. Another chapter to the McKendrick saga.”
The only remaining daughter, Emeline, was a ‘victim’ of a leaked sex tape with a controversial hip-hop artist. Elaine, the McKendrick heir Mattie was supposed to be, had disappeared after her fifth birthday under suspicious circumstances. Karen McKendrick, Mattie’s mother, killed herself after a dramatic battle with brain cancer. James McKendrick, Karen’s husband--but not Mattie’s father--was in and out of the financial pages of the newspapers, a constant rotation between doing good and on the verge of getting arrested. A surprise heir would shake things up even more.
The whoop of a siren startled K. He let her go as a police officer climbed out of the car Mattie hadn’t even heard them drive up. The family mov
ed on, but didn’t leave completely. Mattie grabbed her cheap duffel bag and backpack from the ground and fled across the four lanes separating the drop-off/pick-up area from the terminals, ignoring the calls of the cop. The regional airport was small, but large enough for two terminals and a separate building for conference rooms and rental car kiosks.
Once inside the airport she dove inside the biggest knot of people she could find. Towering Japanese kids in basketball uniforms stared at her with a mix of confusion, reproach, and anger. She hurried through and ducked into the nearest bathroom.
The last stall in the darkest corner was available. She locked the door and leaned against the cold tile wall.
“Oh, dear God,” she moaned into her cold hands. Tremors racked her body for a moment. “Get a grip, Mat. Just get a grip.”
She pulled the plane ticket out of the envelope and checked the departure time. She had about thirty minutes to check in, make it through security and to the terminal. She’d never make it if she huddled in the bathroom like a scared kid. Then K would really come down on her. She took a deep breath. K’s threats hung around her head like ghosts.
Mattie shoved the paper into her pocket and left the stall. She went to the sink and washed her hands, eyeing herself in the mirror. Her eyeliner and mascara smeared beneath her eyes, lending her the look of a goth raccoon. A wet paper towel fixed most of the damage. She reapplied her eyeliner, then the mascara.
You can do this. Get it done, and then you can disappear.
No. Molly. She couldn’t leave Molly. Cute, crazy, amazing Molly.
A spark of hatred strong enough to make her want to start crying again welled up. Fucking pedophile. K messed with her since Carmen, woman who’d raised her, married his father when she was just a little older than Molly was now. He was almost eighteen. Handsome. Charming. He paid attention to her. Gave her little presents and made her laugh. When his best friend Isabelle tormented her, he was the one to hug her and make her feel better.
The day after she turned thirteen, he got her drunk on wine coolers. She woke up the next morning naked, bleeding, and, as she found out a couple months later, pregnant. K laughed. Isabelle called her a whore. When she tried to tell Carmen what happened, all she got was a, “you probably deserved it.”
Even when Mattie got the nerve to tell the counselor at school what happened, Carmen, K’s father, and K himself wove a convincing story about her delinquent behavior that--insert heartbreaking sobs--led to Mattie ending up in ‘that situation.’ No matter how far she ran or who she ran to, Carmen always dragged her back into hell.
A mother and daughter duo entered the bathroom, chattering in Dutch. The girl glanced up at Mattie and smiled shyly before her mother ushered her into a stall. Cute kid. The long blonde hair and bright blues eyes made Mattie think of Molly.
That’s who I’m doing this for. Molly. Not K.
Satisfied with her makeup, Mattie left the bathroom. She melted into the people hurrying through the lobby toward the security checkpoint. Once in line, she kicked off her shoes and fished her phone out of her pocket. She made it through the line and on to the plane with a few minutes to spare.
When the plane was finally high above the earth, she slipped her earbuds in and set her ancient MP3 player to shuffle. Everybody else had slick iPods and smartphones, but nothing took the place of the tiny eight-gig Wal-Mart special she’d had for years. The soothing crash and thunder of hard alternative rock eased the tension out of her muscles. For the first time in two weeks, since K had coerced her into his devious scheme, she let herself relax. With a sigh, she leaned back against the stiff seat back.
Everything since Ruth Ellen’s representative had shown up on her doorstep had been surreal. Even though she was half a country away from K, he heard about the woman’s request that Mattie fly to Florida for a meeting. With plenty of threats and promises, he flashed pictures of their daughter and her adoptive family in her face, making lots of vague promises laden with threats. Mattie knew him well enough to know what he really meant when he said she’d regret it.
What had frightened her was that he knew where Molly was, and had known for a long time.
It meant he knew a lot more than she thought he did. She never would have accepted the bizarre packet of papers Ruth Ellen had sent with her personal lawyer if K hadn’t been right beside her on the couch, arm around her shoulders. Only she knew he wasn’t being brotherly. The aching grip of his hand on her shoulder was a threat in itself.
For four years she had managed to avoid him, but in the space of a day, her hard-earned life crashed down around her ears. K left her shaking inside, nearly mindless with fear of what he could do to Molly and the Thompsons.
From now on, she wasn’t Matilyn Delacourt. Ruth Ellen’s representative never told them completely what the woman wanted, other than she wanted to see Mattie, and as long as she was in Florida, she had to pretend to be yet another McKendrick daughter.
She was Elaine McKendrick. Elaine, she said in her head, over and over again. The fake ID in her wallet said Matilyn Smith. Another name to keep straight. Ruth Ellen wanted her to use a different name, a new identity, so that when McKendrick ran his background checks, his investigator wouldn’t find out about her past easily.
Someone jostled her arm. She jumped and jerked away from the warm contact. “Sorry,” the guy in the seat next to her said. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Reluctantly, she plucked the earbuds from her ears. The insanely gorgeous eyes left her mind blank and her cheeks on fire.
“I’m West.” He extended his hand to her. Numbly, she shook it.
“Mattie. I’m Mattie.”
“Where are you headed to, Mattie?”
“Daytona Beach.” Live the lie.
“Really. That’s interesting. I’m going to good ole’ DB as well. Who’re you going to see? Maybe I know them.”
“Um, I don’t really know you...”
“I’m not a stalker. I swear. Scout’s honor.” He grinned, charming her with a million-watt smile.
“Um, the McKendricks,” she said.
“James McKendrick? Ruth Ellen?” Mattie felt sick. She pasted a cheery smile on her face and nodded. She wanted to puke. “Yeah! That’s them. I just found out James is my biological father. Ruth Ellen wants to meet me.”
“No shit! You’re Elaine, then. What a small world!” He turned toward her, grinning. She didn’t like the intensity of his eyes. Way too intense. They bored into hers, turning into a bowl of quivering jelly and a sack of nerves at the same time. The smile on his lips didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Yeah, I’m that Elaine.”
“Well, Elaine. I’m a close family friend. I was stunned to hear about you. We’ve all thought you were dead for twenty-something years.” She might be mistaken, but that looked like pain in his eyes. She’d relied on her instinct when it came to reading people. Everything about the man warned her to be careful.
His damn smile was way too disarming.
“You did?” That was news. As far as she knew, the real Elaine vanished in the middle of the night when she was five or six.
“Yeah. What else would we think? You disappeared in the middle of the night.”
Mattie shrugged. “I just thought I was adopted. It was a pretty big surprise for me, too.”
“Ruth Ellen’s pretty sick.” His eyes turned predatory. A little chill of fear made goose bumps pop out up and down Mattie’s arms. “Bet that money of hers sounds pretty sweet.”
“I’m not doing this to make a dime, Mr. West. I just want to find my roots. My mom died a few years ago, and I want to get to know my real family. I don’t want to hurt anybody.”
He nodded, a satisfied expression on his face that did nothing to dilute the piercing quality of his eyes. She knew without a doubt that she had to be careful around this guy.
“Is West your first name?” That should change the subject.
“No. My first name is Brant. When I was in middle school, teacher s
tarted calling me by my last name, and it stuck.” He laughed, a rich sound that made her smile, too, despite her instinctual fear of the man. “Sounds awesome when you’re in a band, though.”
“You’re in a band?”
“Lead singer for a little local cover band.”
“That’s cool.”
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. Without asking, he tugged the cord from her earbuds from her MP3 player and plugged it into his phone. He scrolled through the menus and finally tapped ‘play.’
The voice crooning one of her favorite Breaking Benjamin songs, “Rain,” made her jaw drop in surprise. He had an edge to his voice, a gentle rasp, and he sang with the passion of a heartbroken angel. He started to remove the earbud cord after a few seconds, but she stopped him with a soft touch.
“Wait.”
The longer she listened, the bigger his smile got. When the song ended and she pulled the earbuds from her ears, she wasn’t sure if she should go all fan-girl on him, or play it cool.
“Ho-ly crap, Mr. West,” she said, breathless. “Is that really you?”
He smirked and cleared his throat. He thought for a second and launched into the chorus. When he was done, half the airplane broke out in applause.
His voice did things to her that she hadn’t experienced in years. Heart aflutter, she grinned back at him. “I don’t even know what to say. That was amazing. Why aren’t you singing for some huge record label.”
“I’m content with my life as it is. My band plays a few concerts a month at small venues or weddings or whatever, and I can run my business without aspirations of fame and fortune getting in the way.”
“I don’t blame you. A quiet life is all I want.”
Despite all his banter and laughter, his piercing, suspicious gaze didn’t let up. She took a second to look him over. He wasn’t a bad looking guy, just a notch above ordinary. His hair was an unusual color stuck somewhere between copper and brown and dark blond. The sun, flashing off the wings of the plane, made his natural golden highlights shift and change. His eyelashes were the same prismatic blond-copper-brown. His eyes were the most striking of his features. They were the color of a deep lake, and in the depths of those dark gray-blue colors, a storm brewed. Bright gold flecks twinkled in his irises.
