Reckless Abandon (November Blue, #2)

by Andrea Randall

  For my parents, who have always loved each other with reckless abandon.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  “Stop! Stop!” My voice sounds like record player static as I race toward Bo.

  “November!”

  I stop in my tracks. Bo’s lips aren’t moving—the voice is coming from behind me. I turn to see Adrian charging my way with the force of a bull, his arms waving me out of the way. I turn back just in time for the buttons on Bo’s shirt to introduce themselves to my face, and I land headfirst on the pavement.

  Above me, they collide in a sonic boom of testosterone. Neither seems concerned with the blood pouring from my head. A shadow blackens my view of the fight, and suddenly a bear paw of a hand is in front of my face.

  “Come with me.” The smoky voice encircles my senses, making my blood run cold and scared.

  “Get away from me! Bo, Adrian, help me!” I’m a foot to the side of them but they don’t see me, or him. They’re battling to the death; my voice sounds further and further away in my head each time I scream.

  The paw snares my upper arm, yanking me with it. “Get up.”

  “Adrian! Bo!” I’m trying to shake free, but the snare tightens and drags me away.

  By the time they admit there would be no winner of this fight, it’s too late. My screams are going unheard as I’m pulled into the darkness.

  “Ember, wake up!” a voice beckons from above.

  Suddenly I am graced with the peace that this is a dream. I let his voice pull me back to reality. My eyes flip open and in one motion I’m seated, trying to regulate my breathing.

  “Sorry, did I wake you up?” I say to prove I’m out of that hell in my subconscious.

  “No, I haven’t gone to bed yet. Another nightmare, huh?”

  I glance at the clock; it reads 10:00 PM. I shake my head at the exhaustion I’ve been ignoring in favor of wallowing.

  “Yeah, another nightmare. Thank you for staying with me the last couple nights.”

  “Of course.” He runs his thumb across my chin and disappears to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water.

  “Thanks, Adrian,” I manage after half of the water is gone.

  He just smiles and walks quietly back to the living room, giving me time to collect myself.

  I gulp the water in fury, hoping to flush the nightmares of my last night in Concord from my body; but the S.S. Cavanaugh appears unsinkable in the turbulent waters of my soul.

  After a few moments and another deep breath, I head to the living room. Adrian sits, flipping through the channels on the TV and settling on ESPN. After driving my soulless body back from Concord, he’s stayed here the past two nights; and hasn’t gone far during the day. My parents wanted to come stay with me, but I asked them for space. They reluctantly obliged. For some reason I felt I couldn’t burden Monica with my mess, so Adrian stepped in and told her he’d stay with me until I felt safe and calm.

  We haven’t spoken much about what unfolded between McCarthy’s and his hotel room, or between Bo and me. Frankly, we haven’t spoken much at all. He’s worked on his laptop in my living room most days, while I’ve traveled between my bed, bathroom, and kitchen. He’s prepared at least two meals a day for me, and doesn’t scold me like a child when they go largely uneaten.

  “You OK?” He catches me staring and puts down the footrest on the recliner.

  “Yeah.”

  I walk to him and stand for a moment, our knees touching. He sets the remote down and grips the arms of the chair, working me over with concerned eyes.

  “Em ...” His eyes beg me for something, anything.

  In one long blink I curl myself onto his lap. His hands hesitate for a moment before resting around my waist. He breathes in the scent of my shampoo as I settle my head on his shoulder. My breath falters against the words brewing in my throat. Adrian notices.

  He nudges my shoulders, forcing me to sit up and look at him. “What’s going on?”

  “You called me Blue, Adrian.”

  “I know.” He swallows hard; this is the first time I’ve brought it up.

  “You’re the only person who’s ever called me that. That wasourthing,and right there, on the beach, in front of Bo, you called me Blue like nothing had happened. Like no time had passed.” I keep my voice quiet and calm, reliving the memory of his voice against the waves shortly after he and Bo told me about the blackmail. It’s hard to believe it was less than two weeks ago.

  “I know.”

  “I hadn’t seen you in four years and we were standing in front of my boyfriend,” I chuckle for the first time in a lifetime, “and, right there, you just blurt it out.”

  “Were you mad?” A grin tugs caution away from his face.

  “Furious.”

  “Ha. You don’t look furious.” He tucks his bottom lip behind his teeth.

  I shrug. “I was mad that it still made me feel the way it always made me feel.” Heaviness pulls at my chest.

  “How’s that?”

  I yawn and set my head back on his shoulder. “Special. Yours.”

  “You are,” he whispers.

  “Which one?” I ask as my eyelids close up shop.

  If he has a response, I don’t hear it before I drift off. There won’t be any nightmares here.

  * * *

  “Good Morning, Ember. I’m glad you’re back.” My boss’s smile is sweet as she settles into her desk, motioning me to sit.

  “Thanks, Carrie, I really appreciated the week off ...” I trail off and briefly knot my hands before taking a cleansing breath.

  “If you need more time -”

  “No, it’s really OK. It was just...a lot. But I do appreciate the week to collect myself.” I tuck some hair behind my ear before I continue. “I suppose we should talk about the dissolution of the relationship between B- Mr. Cavanaugh and myself.” I’ve practiced saying his name without crying nearly a hundred times over the last few days, but that doesn’t stop the burn from hissing against my cheeks.

  “It won’t be necessary.” Condolences rake Carrie’s face. While she’s my boss, she’s also a woman—she gets it.

  I pull my eyebrows in, rendered speechless.

  Carrie takes a deep breath before continuing. “Mr. Cavanaugh sent me an email accepting full responsibility for everything that happened. He expressed his apologies and assured me that he would be handing the day-to-day operations of DROP over to David Bryson. He will remain a benefactor and handle behind-the-scenes duties. Further, he’s asked that we still consider the collaboration.”


  Mini bombs titled “too much information at once” fire inside my brain.

  “It’s summer now,” Carrie continues, “we have interns ready to go in whatever capacity I see fit. I can have one work with Monica on the DROP project—”

  I stop her with my hand and a head shake. “No. Absolutely not. This collaboration is too important to leave to interns. DROP is a fantastic organization. Had I played by the very specific rules known to everyone on the planet— including myself—I wouldn’t be in this position. I’m an adult and this is my job.”

  I think I just pulled off sounding composed.

  “Who does DROP have in place for Grants and Community Ed?” I ask, trying to erase Bo’s blackmailers from my memory.

  “DROP’s legal team will handle finances for a while, and David will work on the community piece with Rachel Cavanaugh. They’d like to get together ASAP to design a plan to move forward.”

  Rachel’s name sounds like music to my years and feels like a kick to the head all at the same time. She’s certainly aware of the details of the blackmail. Bill Holder and Tristan MacMillian had “compromising” photos of Rachel during the time of her life she was using drugs. I have no idea—and don’t want to know—what the pictures entailed, but they were damaging enough that Bo didn’t want them released. Bill and Tristan blackmailed him for enough money that Bo took his time paying them back. For reasons I don’t understand, he employed them at DROP, and things seemed to unfold from there.

  I’m not sure if Rae knows how much I know, or if she knows I know anything at all. I’ve ignored the few phone calls from a number Adrian tells me is hers. I haven’t been ready to face her. It hadn’t occurred to me that with school out for the summer, Rachel would be more active with DROP.

  “Ember, are you OK?” Carrie reels me back to the present.

  “Yes. Rachel’s great. I met her in Concord. You’re really going to like her.” I allow my feelings for Rachel to show in a smile.

  “Good. Well, go get settled back into your office and I’ll get in touch with you later about meeting with Rachel and David.”

  I breeze past Monica’s office and shut the door to mine before reorienting myself.

  “Em?” Monica knocks and talks at the same time.

  “Yeah, come in.”

  “How’d it go with Carrie?” She plunks in a chair and slides a latte in my direction.

  “Fine. I told her I was still one hundred percent committed to the collaboration, and—”

  “Pardon?” She cuts me off with judgmental eyebrows.

  “Monica, it’s my job. Period. Bo and I shouldn’t have gotten involved with each other and neither organization should have to suffer because of it. Stop looking at me like that.”

  “OK, well, I need to show you something.” Monica produces a sheet of paper and sets it on my desk.

  “What is this?” I ask as I pick it up.

  “It’s the email ...” She freezes and waits for my reaction.

  “Why the hell do you have it?”

  “He sent it on Friday. Based on his tone, Carrie thought that you might not be coming back. Of course she wouldn’t show it to me, even if I’d asked ...”

  “But ...”

  “But Tim owed me a favor after I hooked him up with Callie, so ...”

  I chuckle a little. “Nice. Taking advantage of our IT guy.”

  “Well...go on and read it.”

  I stare at her for about five seconds before scrolling my eyes down to the email.

  From: Spencer Cavanaugh, Founder, DROP

  To: Carrie Roberts, Director, The Hope Foundation

  Subject: Collaboration

  Mrs. Roberts:

  I’d like to sincerely thank you for maintaining contact with David Bryson during this trying time for my family. I want to express to you my hope that our two organizations can continue working toward collaboration. David will be taking over day-to-day operations at DROP as I step back to sort through my personal issues. I assure you that William Holder and Tristan MacMillian are no longer employed by DROP and never will be in the future.

  Further, I’m writing to accept full responsibility for the situation that occurred between Ms. Harris and me. It was a complete lack of judgment and ethics on my part. As the person in a position of authority, it was my job to uphold the moral conduct I expect out of my own employees; I failed in that regard.

  If there is anything I can do to assist in retaining Ms. Harris with your organization, should she put in a leave request, please contact me. I’ll give her a raise from my own funds, if necessary. She has a brilliant mind and would be an asset to any organization, but her heart is with Hope.

  My sister, Rachel, and David will be in contact with you soon in regards to setting up a meeting to move forward with the collaboration, if you agree to continue.

  Sincerely,

  Spencer Cavanaugh

  Founder, DROP

  There it is. Everything that has to be said, with miles of subtext jammed between the lines. I’m not in the mood to translate subtext today. It’s just been a week since everything went to hell in Concord, and this is the first piece of present Bo that I’ve seen since then. During the day it all feels like so long ago, but my nightmares play it in real-time. I relive seeing the fight at the garage near my house a week before I met Bo and finding out a couple of weeks later that Bo was involved in that fight. Not only that, but it was related to the blackmail with his sister, and...he knew it was me at the garage after we’d hung out a few times.

  Hung out...

  Today, however, I’m a damn “situation” that should have been handled differently. I don’t know why that upsets me; I feel the same way about him—most of the time.

  After staying at my place a few nights, and one half-sleepy conversation that we haven’t discussed since, Adrian had to get back to Boston. I lied on the phone two nights ago and told him I didn’t have a nightmare the night before. I repeated the same lie last night, telling Adrian I felt like my old self and that I’d see him after my first week back at work. I just need to be alone, and that’s not something I can explain to Adrian. I don’t speak Y-chromosome.

  The truth is, the cuts on my face and body have mostly healed, but I’m beginning to wonder if the gashes to my heart will ever stop bleeding.

  “Em?” Monica quietly leads me out of that dark place in my head.

  I clear my throat. “Why didn’t you call me after you saw this?”

  “Would you have wanted me to?”

  “No, I guess not. Why are you showing me now?” I try to keep my irritation to a minimum.

  “I don’t know, honestly. When he first sent it, I thought you might really want to leave if you knew the collaboration was still on the table. Now...” She struggles for the right words.

  “It’s OK, Mon. Thank you.”

  “So, what does all of that mean?” Monica motions toward the letter. Guess she can see the subtext, too.

  I shrug. “Don’t know. Looks like I was a situation.”

  “Have you heard from him at all?”

  He fills my thoughts, my dreams, and my nightmares. The memory of him, and his touch, pound on the door to my soul with such force that cracks are forming in the wood. I do my best to act like no one is home by keeping the door locked and the lights off.

  “Not for the first couple of days. Then he’d call and I’d ignore it. When he started calling three and four times a day, I deleted his number from my phone. I got tired of seeing his name, and I don’t want to talk to him...I can’t.” My words throw Monica’s eyes to the floor.

  “Are you ever going to talk to him? I mean, besides work?”

  I want to. I don’t want to.

  “I don’t know.” I take a deep breath and turn on my computer. Monica looks me over, seeming to study my body language.

  “Are we done talking about this?” she asks.

  “You got it.”

  “So,” her voice brightens, “is Adrian
in town this week?” The sound of his name steadies my heart. Funny, a week and a half ago it made me furious.

  “He’s in Boston right now.” I allow a smile.

  “That’s an interesting smile.”

  “Monica,” I caution.

  “Are you telling me he’s stayed at your house andnothing has happened?”

  “Have we just met?” I chuckle sarcastically. “I just had my heart broken ...” I don’t finish the sentence because I can’t deny that Adrian does something to my insides. It’s confusing navigating that and heartbreak at the same time. Like any other warm-blooded female, I want something, or someone, to heal my heart and make me forget.

  “I still can’t believe he called you ‘Blue’ again, in front of Bo no less!” She sort of changes the subject.

  “Ha, I know. If I’d held my poker face a little better, Bo might not have noticed that it meant something...or used to...whatever.” I chuckle.

  “Have you talked to Adrian about that?”

  “Once, but I fell asleep.” I shrug and offer nothing more. “I’m sure he’ll try to come down sometime this week, but I know he’s got meetings in Concord, too.”

  “I guess we’ll be heading there soon, huh?”

  I tell Monica that I’m looking forward to seeing Rachel. Carrie pokes her head in to tell us that DROP would like us there by the end of the week. Looking pointedly at me, she informs us that the legal team, David Bryson, and Rachel Cavanaugh will be the only members present. Message received. Monica’s eyes comfort me as she heads out of the office just behind Carrie.

  I lean back in my chair and stare at the in-box on my computer screen. Thankful for Monica’s suggestion that I have the IT guy delete all email conversations between Bo and me, I confidently sift through my messages and dive into work. I see an email from Adrian, discussing the intended Concord trip at the end of the week. He’s been great, if slightly manic, about telling me anything and everything he thinks I might need to know. He saw my nerves shorten after being left in the dark about a lot of things, both with himand Bo. He wants to help heal that. Good luck.

  By the end of the day I’m inordinately exhausted. I half-lie when I tell Monica I’m looking forward to quiet time when she suggests that she and Josh come over for dinner. I’m certainly looking forward to quiet, but only so I can fill it with the tears and screaming I’ve held in during the near-constant presence of Monica, Josh, and Adrian. Sometimes a girl just needs to cry and throw stuff.