The Secrets We Carry

by Jessica Sorensen

  The Secrets We Carry

  (The Secrets We Carry , #1 )

  Jessica Sorensen

  The Secrets We Carry

  Jessica Sorensen

  All rights reserved .

  Copyright © 2017 by Jessica Sorensen

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited .

  No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review .

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms .

  For information: jessicasorensen.com

  Cover Design by Mae I Design

  Created with Vellum

  T o Giant Baller and Tiny Baller, you inspire me every day .

  Contents

  1. Wynter

  2. Wynter

  3. Wynter

  4. Everette

  5. Wynter

  6. Wynter

  7. Wynter

  8. Everette

  9. Wynter

  10. Wynter

  11. Everette

  12. Wynter

  13. Everette

  14. Wynter

  15. Wynter

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Also by Jessica Sorensen

  One

  Wynter

  T his party is supposed to be the party of all parties, and the only way to get into it is to be asked by one of the guys throwing the party. I’ve had my eye on one guy in particular who I’m hoping will ask me .

  Travis Marilellie is the star quarterback of the football team at the university I attend in Fairs Hollow and the most desirable bachelor on campus, along with being the university golden boy. He’s admired by most; even the professors seem to love him. Plus, his family is well-respected in town, just like my family. We’d be perfect for each other .

  I’ve been wanting to go on a date with him since I ran into him at a party a few months ago. But even though I put out the vibes that I’m interested in him, he seems to only want to be friends .

  Or so I thought .

  Today, however, as I’m leaving psychology class, he’s waiting for me outside with that dazzling smile that made my heart flutter the first time I saw it .

  “Hey, Wynter.” He approaches me, brushing strands of his hair out of his eyes. Almost all the girls around us glance in his direction, and I secretly smile when he remains focused on me. “I’m glad I ran into you .”

  “Ran into you?” I tease, tucking a strand of my long blonde hair behind my ear. “It kind of looked like you were waiting for me .”

  His grin broadens. “All right, you caught me. I was waiting for you .”

  I crook a brow. “Sounds sort of stalker-ish to me .”

  He presses his hand to his chest, feigning offense. “I come here to woo you off your feet and you call me a stalker ?”

  “Woo?” I continue to tease while batting my eyelashes. “I think you might be confused about what era we live in .”

  “Hey, don’t mock me for wanting to go old-school and sweep a pretty girl off her feet.” He winks at me .

  My heart nearly melts right there. “All right then, woo away. But you’ll have to do it while you walk me to my next class, or else I’m going to be late .”

  With a grin and a bow, he gestures for me to go ahead .

  Chuckling, I start down the hallway with my books hugged to my chest. He walks beside me with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his tan pants, occasionally checking me out from the corner of his eye .

  I smile to myself, grateful I wore my pink skirt by my favorite designer, along with a white top and my lucky heels. My long blonde hair is curled at the ends, and I just applied a coat of lip gloss before I exited class, so my lips are all shiny and delicious, and hopefully, looking kissable .

  I’m not completely clueless when it comes to guys. I know how to flirt. I’ve gone out on more than my fair share of dates. My mom calls me guy crazy, which is fine. I like guys. So what? There’s nothing wrong with that. Although, I’m probably not as experienced as I come off .

  While I’ve occasionally fooled around, I’m still a virgin. Not a big deal. I’m only eighteen and just started my second semester of my freshman year. I’m sure there are other girls who haven’t gone all the way yet. Not that I’m saving myself for marriage or anything. I’d just like to be in love before it happens. Is that too much to ask? But, no matter how much I put my heart out there, I’ve never fallen head-over-heels in love with someone. And I want to. Badly .

  “So, have you heard about the party my frat’s throwing?” Travis asks me as we walk through the corridors .

  “Yeah, I think almost everyone I’ve crossed paths with has mentioned it,” I say in a light tone. “From what I understand, it’s by invite only .”

  “It is.” He comes to a stop in the communal area where several students are eating their lunches, studying, or just chatting. Some people pause to gawk at the football star who is also the son of the mayor. His family has a sort of celebrity status in our town. “I know it makes us seem like snobs, but there’re a lot of guys in my frat who come from important families, and they don’t want everyone blabbing about their business. Or worse, reporting it to the media .”

  “That makes sense.” Having grown up in a home where appearances are everything, I understand more than I wish I did. I can’t even count how many times my parents have given me lectures on how to behave and look .

  Sometimes I wonder if any part of me is actually me, or if I’m just a sculpture they molded. I never think too deeply into it; otherwise, I might open Pandora’s Box .

  “That does make me curious about what you guys do at all the infamous parties you throw,” I tease with a smile .

  His smile mirrors mine. “Well, maybe you should come find out for yourself .”

  “Why, Travis Marilellie, is that your way of wooing me to go to your party?” I fake a southern accent, which elicits a laugh from him .

  I secretly smile that I made Travis Marilellie smile .

  “Yeah, I guess it is.” He nibbles on his bottom lip. “So, what do you say, Wynter Porterrsen? Would you like to accompany me to a party where I promise to spend all night wooing your heart ?”

  Wow, I’m pretty sure he just did. “I’d be honored .”

  “Good.” He leans forward and places a soft kiss on my cheek .

  My heart dances in my chest, the smell of his cologne and aftershave intoxicating and —

  My eyes pop open as my alarm screeches from my nightstand. I reach to hit the snooze button, but then the urge to vomit is more consuming, so I instead dive out of bed and rush into the bathroom where I spend the next couple minutes dry heaving .

  Once I’ve pulled my shit together, I splash some water on my face and lift my head to look in the mirror. Those damn dark circles residing underneath my eyes won’t seem to go away. Maybe if I could get a decent night’s rest they would, but for the last couple months, my mind spends most of the night fighting from succumbing to exhaustion. Fighting from succumbing to the nightmares .

  My thoughts briefly flicker with images of the nightmare I was having only minutes ago; a nightmare that’s been on auto-repeat. Just thinking about it makes the scent of Travis flood my senses, which then makes my stomach clench .

  If only I knew ba
ck then that by the time the party was over, I’d vomit whenever I thought of his scent. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so giddy and easy to woo .

  I was naïve back then. I thought falling in love with a wealthy, popular guy who could sweep me off my feet was what life was about. I was so stupid .

  Not anymore. Now I keep my guard up and make no room for love or relationships. Only school, work, and one final thing .

  Revenge .

  Two

  Wynter

  A fter I take a shower, I light up and take a few hits to ease my nerves. Before, I rarely did drugs. Now, I can’t get through the day without sucking in a few breaths of my new best friend— Mary Jane .

  In and out, the smoke saturates my lungs until my body feels hazy .

  Numb .

  Tucking my pipe away into the top drawer of my nightstand, I grab a brush and comb my chin-length blonde hair. It used to be longer, but I hacked it off a few nights after the party to get rid of the stench I swore was embedded into each strand, even after I washed it at least ten times. Afterward, I went to a hairstylist to get it trimmed. I didn’t really care if it looked like shit. In fact, I kind of wanted to look hideous. But I wasn’t interested in drawing attention to myself, which was so unlike me .

  For eighteen years, I loved being in the spotlight. I was loud-mouthed; loved to speak my mind; wore unique, designer outfits; danced, sang, tried out for talent shows; stood up against bullies. Now I just want to blend in. I want to sink into the shadows, avoid being seen , at least in the way Travis saw me .

  I no longer want to be Wynter Porterrsen. I want to be Wynter, the girl with no last name. A nobody. Just your average girl .

  If I had been just your average girl without my stupid last name, that night might have never happened. Or maybe it would’ve. Who really knows ?

  Either way, I want to be the girl with no last name now .

  Noting the time, I hurriedly pull on a pair of black fitted jeans, lace-up boots, a grey shirt, and top the look off with a leather jacket. Then I trace my eyes with a bit of kohl eyeliner and dab some lip gloss on .

  I stay away from jewelry and my designer clothes. My boots are a little scuffed and chipped, dark blue nail polish covers my short, un-manicured fingernails. Every single part of my getup, from my shoes to my makeup, is the exact opposite of who I used to be. I’ve been sporting the look since a couple weeks after that night .

  When my friends first saw me, they flipped out, which only made me love the look more. It meant I looked different. That I didn’t look like Wynter Porterrsen. It meant that guys like Travis would have a harder time spotting me, of knowing who I was .

  I stare at my reflection in the mirror and through my bloodshot eyes. I think I feel the slightest bit better from when I woke up .

  “I’m just an ordinary, college girl,” I whisper to myself .

  I wait for a smile to touch my lips, because it feels like I should be happy I accomplished what I wanted. Like the last couple of months, though, my lips remain set in a frown. It’s been so long since I’ve seen myself smile—two months, two days, and a handful of hours to be exact. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever see my smile again .

  Will I ever be happy again ?

  Three

  Wynter

  T he really crappy part about going to college in Fairs Hollow is, while it’s a great college, everyone seems to know everyone. That means I frequently cross paths with people I know .

  Following that night at the party Travis had invited me to, I was consumed by fear every time I walked through the campus, fearing everyone I knew—who could see me—saw I wasn’t the same Wynter I used to be. That I was tainted, ruined, broken. That’s how I felt at the time, anyway .

  Now I feel tainted, ruined, broken, and angry. That anger consumes me every damn day, like a rope has been wrapped around my chest several times, making my lungs tight, on the verge of bursting. I want the rope gone. Want the anger gone. Want to be able to breathe without pressure. Want the pressure, the tightness, the feeling as though I’m being crushed to death— just like I felt that night—to vanish .

  Sometimes, if I take enough hits, the lightness surfaces, yet the tightness always remains underneath the haze that drifts through my veins .

  As I cross the campus yard, my bloodshot eyes begin to water. With tears, I think. Being high makes it hard to tell sometimes .

  Air in. Air out. Just breathe, Wynter, just breathe .

  Once I’ve gotten my breathing under control, I jog to the doors to the building where my class is located. If I don’t hurry my ass up, I’ll be late again, and then everyone will turn to look at me as I enter the classroom. I really hate when people stare at me. I didn’t used to, but that’s another trait that’s changed. All because of that damn night .

  My fingers curl into fists as I think about everything that was ruined inside and outside of me. I swear to God the veins underneath my skin pulsate with rage .

  Rage . Rage .

  Rage. Rage . Rage .

  So much rage .

  “Wynter!” someone shouts, and for a flickering moment, the drug in my system evaporates, wiped out by fear as I’m taken back to the hazy memories of that night .

  “Wynter!” someone shouts with a laugh. “Come on, baby; play the game !”

  When a hand touches my shoulder, I whirl around, dropping my books, my hands clenching into fists .

  “Holy shit.” Beck, one of my close friends, raises his hands in front of him, his eyes wide in shock. “Calm down. It’s just me .”

  It’s just me .

  It’s just Beck .

  I let that sink in as I eye him over .

  Like me, Beck comes from a wealthy, highly respected family in the community. Neither of our parents have been super great to us, though; just to the people they want to dazzle .

  While Beck’s parents are straight-up assholes who once tried to control him until he decided to cut ties with them, mine ignore me, just as long as I’m keeping up the appearance that we are one big, happy family .

  Beck lowers his hands to his sides and studies me worriedly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re freaked out? And”—he squints at my eyes—“have you been crying? Or are you … stoned ?”

  “I’m not high. You know I don’t do that shit. I just have allergies.” Liar, liar, liar. Wynter is a little liar now . I steady my breathing as I lower my fists. “Sorry, I freaked out. I didn’t hear you come up behind me .”

  He eyes me over warily. He’s been doing that a lot lately. All my friends have. “I shouted your name.” A crease forms between his brows. “Didn’t you hear me ?”

  I did, I want to say. But the sound dragged me back to the past .

  Beck isn’t aware of what happened. No one is, except my parents. At the time, I wanted to tell my friends, but between the fear, shame, and threats, I decided to keep my lips sealed .

  “Keep your lips fucking shut, or else we’ll end you .”

  I force my lips to turn upward. “I thought it was pretty obvious I didn’t,” I attempt to joke. “I was sort of zoned out. I slept like shit last night .”

  “You say that a lot,” he remarks with a frown. “Did you ever go talk to that sleeping specialist Wills told you about ?”

  Wills is Beck’s girlfriend and one of my other close friends. Growing up, Beck, Wills, Luna, Ari, and I were close friends. We’re still close and everything—well, up until a couple months ago—but now that Beck is dating Wills, and Luna is practically engaged to Grey, a guy she’s been dating since senior year of high school, we don’t spend every waking hour with each other like we used to .

  It used to bother me that we started drifting apart the older we got as relationships, jobs, and school got in the way. Now, they don’t spend enough time with me that they would notice how different I am. They started to notice a bit recently. And sometimes I just want to break down and tell them why .

  Tell them everything .

  “Don’t
you dare fucking tell anyone about this,” he whispers in my ear. “You’ll regret it if you do .”

  I try to blink away the memory .

  Afraid .

  Afraid .

  Afraid .

  I’m always afraid .

  “I haven’t yet,” I tell him as I collect my books from the ground .

  I don’t mention I have no plans on going. Not that I don’t appreciate my friends’ concerns and efforts to help me. But what’s ruining my good nights of rest can’t be fixed with different sleeping positions or anything a sleep specialist might suggest. No, the only way I’ll be able to sleep again is if this pressure in my chest goes away, if the fear I carry around all day disappears, and this goddamn need to make them pay for what they did to me stops burning inside my chest .

  Revenge .

  Revenge .

  Revenge .

  The word pulsates in my veins, an angsty, screaming song; lyrics belted out at the top of my lungs. Yet, somehow my lips remain fused shut .

  Obsession .

  Obsession .

  Obsession .

  I want revenge .

  Beck inches closer to me and lowers his voice. “I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but you and I have always been pretty straight with each other, right ?”

  I shrug. “I guess that’s one way of looking at our excessive ability to chew each other out .”

  His lips quirk. “I like to think of it more as heatedly debating with each other .”

  “Man, you must be tired or something,” I aim for a teasing tone, but fail epically. “Usually, you just refer to our arguments as me being a bitch .”