Hale

by K. Webster

  Hale

  Copyright © 2018 K Webster

  Cover Design: All By Design

  Photo: Adobe Stock

  Editor: Emily A. Lawrence,

  www.lawrenceediting.com

  Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Dedication

  Synopsis

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Books by K Webster

  Acknowledgements from K Webster

  About Author K Webster

  “It was the eyes. The secret of love was in the eyes, the way one person looked at another, the way eyes communicated and spoke when the lips never moved.”

  —V.C. Andrews, Flowers in the Attic

  To my other half…I love you, heathen.

  Warning

  This book is an epic, emotional, raw love story…

  between a brother and sister.

  Many won’t be able to handle that.

  But if I don’t tell their story, who else will?

  He’s my everything.

  I would die without him.

  Because he infects me.

  My brother.

  He’s inside my mind.

  My thoughts are black and bruised.

  Twisted and wrong.

  A secret that eats me alive, but one I’ll take to my grave.

  And then it happens.

  He sees inside me.

  Understands the darkness.

  Loves what he finds.

  I’m contagious.

  It’s true.

  Now, he’s sick too.

  Hudson

  Eighteen years old…

  “You’re going,” Mom snaps, her green eyes flaring with fury. “I won’t hear another word about it.”

  I clench my jaw and glower back at her. “I’m a grown-ass man, Mom.”

  Her brown eyebrow arches in challenge. “And I’m still your mother. I will not have you throwing away your future for some girl.”

  Rylie is quiet from the living room as she texts someone and wisely doesn’t join the debate. At fourteen, my sister likes to throw her opinion around like it matters. It doesn’t fucking matter.

  “But Amy and I are going to get married. I love her,” I tell Mom, running my fingers through my hair in frustration.

  Mom’s gaze softens as she approaches. At thirty-eight, she’s still young and pretty. Big green eyes that match mine exactly. Her lips painted a trendy matte red. “Your dad and I got married when I was just eighteen,” she says, her lips quirking up on one side in a half smile as she thinks of my father.

  “Exactly,” I breathe out. “And you guys love each other. That could be me and Amy.”

  She lowers her voice. “I want more than that for you, though. More than this.” She waves around the aging kitchen of the house she and Dad rent out. “Three months and then you’ll graduate high school. You have a full-ride athletic scholarship to the University of Arkansas. One of the best teams to play college baseball for, Huds. Don’t throw all that away. Amy will still be here when you finish. Then, you can marry her and start your life once you have your college degree under your belt. Don’t you want to have more than this?”

  By more than this, she means always struggling to make ends meet. She works long hours at the hair salon and Dad kills his back working overtime each week at the machine shop. They’re in debt up to their eyeballs and are trying to raise two kids. One who has psychological needs requiring therapists they can barely afford and the other one who plays high school baseball for the varsity team. We’re expensive and yet they do what they can to provide for us.

  Her jade-green eyes are teary and guilt tugs at my insides. All those practices she ran me to over the years. All the baseball equipment and uniforms and trips she and Dad didn’t have the money for but somehow managed to fund. My entire baseball career wouldn’t be possible without Mom and Dad.

  “I just love her,” I say, trying again, but my argument has weakened.

  “But you may not in four years. I want you to experience life a little bit. Then, if Amy and you are still together, I wish you both the best.”

  Amy is going to be upset. Last night, I spent Valentine’s Day with her and promised her I wouldn’t leave once we graduated. She was so fucking sad. It broke my heart. Which is why I made the promise not to go to college when she begged me to stay.

  No matter what I do, someone’s feelings will get hurt.

  But Mom is right. Without college, how will I be able to buy Amy a nice house and all the things she’s used to? Unlike our family, Amy comes from wealth. Her dad is a family attorney and her mom owns a boutique in downtown Columbia, Missouri. Where I drive a beat-up pickup that Dad helped me fix up, Amy drives a brand-new Honda Accord. Our love won’t buy us nice things. A college degree will.

  “Okay,” I concede, hating the word as it tumbles out of my mouth.

  She walks over to me and hugs me tight. “Good boy. My good, good boy. You always make the right decision in the end. You have a good head on your shoulders like your father.”

  I pull away from her and give her a nod. “I need to break the news to Amy.”

  “Of course.” She sends me an encouraging smile. “You’re doing the right thing.”

  Then why does it feel so wrong?

  Hudson

  Three years later…

  “Hale!” Coach Brass barks out. “My office. Now.”

  I groan and my buddy Nick laughs beside me as we dress. The locker rooms stink of a bunch of sweaty fucking guys who just killed it on the field. We’re all a little rusty after a long winter break, but each of us is ready for spring training. This season we’re going to smash Florida State.

  “He’s probably going to ride your ass for running like a girl,” Nick says and nudges me with his elbow. I nearly drop my phone that has been buzzing nonstop.

  “I still killed your time,” I tell him with a smirk, pocketing my phone without checking it. Amy knows I have practice today. I don’t get why she’s been blowing up my phone.

  “Whatever.” He shakes his head. “We still going out tonight? Caitlin at Noggins will hook us up with free shit.”

  Because Caitlin wants his nut sack.

  And her bartender friend, Jada, wants mine.

  Last time we went, I got so wasted from the free shots the girls were getting us that I nearly fucked up everything with Amy. Jada had her shir
t off, was in my lap, and her tongue down my throat before I finally snapped out of it and pushed her away.

  Long-distance relationships are fucking hard.

  I always see Amy when I make the almost five-hour trip north from Fayetteville to Columbia. We spend 90 percent of our time together fucking and making up for lost moments. But in between those times a few weekends a semester, I get lonely. Our Facetime chats usually end with her making me feel guilty in some way. Sometimes she can be such a nag.

  “Hale!” Brass bellows. “I said now!”

  His tone is sharp and not at all like the one he uses to razz on the baseball field. It unnerves me.

  “Coming, Coach,” I holler back and zip my bag closed. I shoulder it and amble through the locker room to his office where he paces. His back is to me and he runs both hands through his thinning hair.

  Fuck.

  Am I in trouble?

  “Sit, son,” he says, his voice cracking slightly.

  Son?

  Something tells me this isn’t about baseball. My job then? I’ve been working at Mrs. Brass’s accounting firm on the days I don’t train. Since I’m getting my degree in Finance, I get to mentor under her while making a little bit of money in the process. I’m saving up to get Amy an engagement ring.

  “I was sick last Friday,” I lie. “If I messed up on someone’s return, it’s because I was sick.” Really, I was nursing that hangover and the mountain of regret I had from making out with a girl who wasn’t my girlfriend.

  He turns and regards me with sadness gleaming in his eyes. I slump into the chair, hating his expression.

  “Coach…”

  “Have you talked to your sister, Hudson?”

  Hudson?

  Coach always calls me Hale.

  Fuck, this isn’t good.

  I furl my brows in confusion. “Rylie? No. Why?”

  “Son…” He pauses and pain flashes in his eyes. Pity even. “She’s been trying to get ahold of you. Then she called me.”

  What did she say to him?

  Irritation bubbles up inside of me. My sister sometimes is every bit as bad as Amy. Always wanting to know when I’m coming back home. Griping about Mom and school and whatever else seventeen-year-olds bitch about. She’s an attention seeker and when my parents aren’t showering her with it, she demands it from me. It’s times like these, I’m glad I left Missouri. “No, what does she want?” I groan in frustration.

  He sits on the edge of his desk and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “It’s your parents.”

  “What about them?” Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down.

  He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. His nose turns slightly red and his nostrils flare. “They were…” Tears form in his eyes as he swallows down his emotion. “I’m sorry, son, but there’s no easy way to tell you this. They were killed in a head-on collision this afternoon.”

  I blink at him in confusion. “What?”

  “I’m sorry, Hudson.”

  “Rylie is just making up bullshit again,” I snap as I rise from the chair.

  He shakes his head as he rises and walks over to me. His palm clasps over my shoulder and he squeezes it. “You need…you need to call your sister.” Then, he grimaces, blinking away tears. “Go home. Take as long as you need. The team and myself are here for you.”

  This isn’t real.

  This isn’t fucking real.

  I yank my phone from my pocket, jerk out of his hold, and ignore all the missing calls and texts from every goddamned person I know. Instead, I call Mom.

  “Hey, I’m not available to take your call at the moment. If you’re booking for February’s Valentine’s cut and color special, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

  It beeps and I growl, “Tell Rylie to fucking stop. Call me back.”

  “Hudson—” Coach starts, but I wave him off as I call Dad.

  His deep voice that sounds much like mine rumbles through the line. “Leave a message.”

  “Dad, Rylie is pulling some shit. Call me.”

  I hang up and my phone rings in my grip.

  Rylie.

  Infuriated, I swipe it to answer. “Whatever bullshit you’re—”

  A loud, ugly sob rings in my ear. Heartbroken. Terrified. Soul-shattering. Tears instantly burn at my eyes as I shake my head.

  “N-No,” I choke out.

  “D-Dad is…” Rylie trails off as she gags through her tears. My heart races as my own tears slide down my cheeks. “He and M-Mom…t-they’re g-gone.”

  “No, Rylie,” I whisper. “No.”

  She just cries. “I d-don’t know w-what to do.”

  I swipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. “Call Aunt Becky and Uncle Randy. I’m on my way.”

  “Okay,” she croaks out.

  I hang up and stare numbly at my coach. “They’re dead.”

  He pulls me to him for a hug. I’ve never embraced this man in my life, but I cling to him as my world crumbles beneath my feet. As though he has the power to fix it.

  Truth is, nobody can fix it.

  When the pained sobs stop rattling from me, I find the strength to pull away and stare at my coach. His face is bright red and his cheeks are stained with tears. I imagine heartache is written just as plainly on my face as well.

  “I need to go,” I rasp out, swiping at my tears with the heel of my palm.

  His lips press into a firm line. “Take as long as you need, son.”

  They’re dead.

  They’re fucking dead.

  I pull into the driveway at nearly one in the morning. Dad’s truck is in the driveway, but Mom’s is missing. Aunt Becky’s Lexus is parked behind Dad. I climb out on shaky legs and start toward the house.

  I’m numb.

  I don’t even really believe it.

  A part of me hopes it’s one of Rylie’s stupid games. That I’ll walk inside and Dad will be asleep on the couch, snoring loudly. But when I walk through the front door into the house that smells like Mom’s snickerdoodle scented wax warmer, I don’t see Dad. I find Rylie’s head on Aunt Becky’s lap. Aunt Becky’s face is bright red from crying and her hair is disheveled.

  It’s real.

  Rylie’s eyes open and when she sees me, she bursts from the couch. I’m nearly knocked over by my little sister as she hugs me fiercely. I squeeze her tight against me, the emotion locked in my chest escaping with a ragged sob of my own. Together we cry at the loss of our parents.

  Since Rylie was a toddler, she’s always been my annoying little sister. As she got older and started having issues, we drifted further apart. It seemed as though she was always trying to make life hard for Mom and Dad. While I was working my ass off to make things easier for them, she was upsetting them at every turn.

  But none of that matters at the moment.

  Right now, all we have left is each other.

  Aunt Becky rises from the sofa and walks over to us. She hugs us, whispering assurances like, “Everything’s going to be okay, kids.”

  Will it?

  My heart sure doesn’t fucking feel like it.

  “Is this a bad dream?” Rylie asks, tilting her head up. Her pale brown eyes are the exact replica of Dad’s. It makes my heart hurt to see them.

  “No, Ry. I’m sorry.”

  More tears roll down her cheeks and she buries her face against my chest. All I can do is hold my sister and hope Aunt Becky is right.

  Rylie

  Four days later…

  I stare at their bodies. First Mom and then Dad. They look like wax people. Not real. Dad has rosy cheeks, for crying out loud. If he knew the funeral home put makeup on him, he’d lose his damn mind. The thought of him sitting up and swiping the blush off his cheeks has me giggling.

  Inappropriately so.

  “Rylie,” Hudson warns, irritation in his tone.

  He stands near Mom’s casket and adjusts her hair so her bangs aren’t hanging over her closed eyes. She doesn’t
look like herself either. The way they styled her hair is reminiscent of some bad eighties music video. If she wasn’t dead already, she’d die of a coronary.

  I giggle again.

  “Rylie,” my brother hisses, shooting me a sharp glare.

  I swallow down the laughter because people are arriving to view the bodies. What kind of sick society do we live in where this is a thing? Mom and Dad don’t even look like the people we knew and loved. And yet here we are staring at their unmoving corpses and whispering things they cannot hear.

  It’s stupid.

  Where are you, Daddy? Where did you go when you left this body?

  My questions go unanswered. They always do.

  “How you holding up?” a sweet voice asks.

  Without looking up, I know the voice belongs to Amy Kent. My brother’s longtime girlfriend. Her perfume fills my nostrils and I try not to shudder.

  “Fine,” I answer and finally glance at her.

  Her shimmering blond hair has been twisted into a modest bun. The simple black dress she wears is demure but can’t hide the fact Amy is curvy. Blatantly, I stare at her breasts, no doubt double Ds, and wish I were blessed in that department. Mom used to say the Hale women didn’t need big boobs. We had big smiles instead.

  I’m not smiling now.

  I’m wishing for bigger boobs.

  At my parents’ funeral.

  Amy hugs me from the side, squishing me with her big boobs. I wonder if Hudson is obsessed with them. She’s somehow kept my brother on a leash this entire time and it’s not because of her winning personality.

  A grin tugs at my lips.

  “There’s my girl,” she coos. “Your parents would be happy to see you smiling.”

  I look past her and meet my brother’s annoyed green-eyed stare. My smile falls. The disapproval in his eyes is overwhelming sometimes. I get it. He’s the golden boy and I’m the fuck-up. The end. Hudson is the Hale kid who’ll go off and do great things while I’m left here pondering the meaning of life. Sometimes I think God made a mistake. Accidentally stuck me on this earth when I was better suited for some dark hole of existence.