Wildflower (Colors #4)

by Jessica Prince

  Copyright © 2015 by Jessica Prince

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.authorjessicaprince.com

  Editor: Erin Garcia

  Proofing by: Jennifer Van Wyk

  Cover Designer: Najla Qamber, www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

  Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  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 any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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

  OTHER BOOKS BY JESSICA

  THE PICKING UP THE PIECES SERIES:

  Picking up the Pieces

  Rising from the Ashes

  Pushing the Boundaries

  Worth the Wait

  THE COLORS NOVELS:

  Scattered Colors

  Shrinking Violet

  Love Hate Relationship

  Wildflower

  Sweet Sunshine (Derrick and Chloe’s story – coming October 2016)

  THE LOCKLAINE BOYS (A LOVE HATE RELATIONSHIP SPINOFF):

  Fire and Ice – Griffin and Pepper’s story (coming April 2016)

  Untitled Book #2 – Richard and Delilah’s story (coming July 2016)

  DEADLY LOVE SERIES:

  Destructive

  Addictive

  OTHER TITLES:

  Nightmares from Within

  To Mom,

  I am in awe of your strength.

  Every day I wake up proud to call myself your daughter.

  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

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Blinking rapidly against the tears that blurred my vision, I moved to my dresser and pulled out another handful of clothes, tossing them haphazardly into one of the open suitcases laying on the bed. I didn’t have it in me to care about taking the time to fold each item and placing them in neat, orderly stacks. Wrinkles were the least of my worries at that moment.

  Escape.

  That was all I could concentrate on.

  Escape from this small town where everyone knew everyone and there were so many noses in your personal business keeping a secret was an inconceivable notion.

  Escape from the heartache that seemed to chase me around day after day. Where a dark cloud hung over my head like a beacon for everyone to see, announcing my misery with every step I took.

  Escape from the one and only boy I had ever loved. The boy I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. The boy I had spent the last two years giving every single piece of myself to, just to have him shove it all back in my face without so much as blinking.

  I fell in love with Noah Murphy the moment I laid eyes on him, and like any naïve, ignorant teenage girl, visions of white picket fences and happily-ever-afters clogged my brain.

  I was an idiot.

  I thought he was the love of my life. My knight in shining armor. I thought he was my fairytale come to life and we were going to spend the rest of our lives together, one blissful year after another.

  Then real life happened and my dreams shattered into a million pieces, falling at my feet. What did I even know about love anyway? I mean, really. I only knew of the romanticized version I’d created in my head. I knew nothing about the real world and what being an adult with adult problems and adult responsibilities meant. I’d been safely cocooned inside my own little childish bubble all my life. I couldn’t even wrap my head around the concept of being an adult.

  Sure, it sounds easy enough in theory. We all want to grow up faster than we should, right?

  We can’t wait to be old enough to drive.

  We can’t wait to be old enough to drink.

  We can’t wait to be old enough to move out on our own. Out from under the thumb of all those responsible adults with their unreasonable rules and expectations. I, just like every other dumb kid I knew, figured I could do anything. How hard could it really be?

  Right?

  So, so wrong.

  The moment Noah and I were hit with something outside the realm of our tiny, insulated existence, we faltered, we stumbled, and we eventually crashed, unable to pick ourselves up from the wreckage and dust ourselves off. It was over. Done. There was no going back. We’d been tested by the real world and we had failed.

  Epically.

  So I was doing what I had to in order to make things right again.

  “What’s going on?”

  I spun back around to grab another load of clothes from the dresser, not bothering to glance in the direction of Noah’s voice. I knew if I looked at him and saw those whiskey-colored eyes looking back at me my resolve would weaken. It always did.

  “I’m packing,” I answered blandly, closing the lid on one of the full suitcases and zipping it up, ready to move on to the next one.

  When Noah spoke again his voice was closer. “I can see that. What I don’t understand is why. Where you goin’, wildflower?”

  The sound of that endearment—that sweet nickname he’d given me the first day we met—was like a shot to the heart. I had to squeeze my eyes against the onslaught of tears that threatened to fall.

  “I’m leaving,” was all I said in response as I kept my sole focus on the task at hand.

  “Look at me, wildflower.”

  I ignored his soft command, for my own wellbeing.

  “Goddamn it, Harlow! Look at me!”

  I spun around on a shout. “What? What do you want from me, Noah?”

  “Baby, please,” he pleaded, taking a step in my direction. The instant I moved back a pace he stopped, seemingly shocked at my reaction. “Let’s talk about this, okay? We can fix this.”

  “No, we can’t,” I told him quietly. “That’s why I’m leaving.”

  At my words he moved forward, ignoring my retreat until he was standing so close I could feel his breath on my skin. “Don’t do this, baby. Please. I love you.”

  I lost the battle against my tears. I let them fill my eyes before trickling down my cheeks, distorting his image as I stared up at him. “If you loving someone means leaving them all alone when they needed you the most, then I’m better off without it. You don’t know how to love anyone but yourself, Noah.”

  “Don’t say that,” he spoke in an agonized whisper before his voice grew louder. “Don’t say that! It’s not true, and you know it, Harlow! I love you. You’re not leaving me. I won’t let you. We can work this out.”

  I tried my hardest to ignore the pain etched into Noah’s expression. He had no right to stand in front of me looking hurt.

  I hurt.

  I was the one suffering.

  Seeing that look on his face caused the bone-deep sorrow that h
ad been plaguing me for weeks to morph into something else entirely.

  Red hot anger.

  Reaching out, I snatched up the envelope that was resting on my nightstand and shoved it into his chest as hard as I could, sending him teetering back only a step. Noah’s size had always been something I loved about him. I was tall for a girl but he still towered over me, standing at six foot two at only eighteen years old, and still growing. He was tall and muscular thanks to years of football, and every time he wrapped me in his arms, I felt secure. He was my safe place, my anchor.

  Until he wasn’t.

  At that very moment his size and strength did nothing but infuriate me more.

  “What the hell is this?” he asked, lifting the flap of the envelope and pulling out the papers inside. Those warm eyes grew wide, his full lips parted on a heavy exhale as his jaw dropped.

  I spoke before he could say so much as one word in objection.

  “Sign them,” I demanded. “Sign them and let me go. This isn’t want you want. It never was. I’m giving you an out. All you have to do is sign the papers.”

  “I don’t want a fucking out,” he growled.

  The next words out of my mouth froze him in place and I knew I’d finally hit my mark. “Then do it for me. Sign them and let me go so I can try and get back to happy.” My voice broke on a sob that bubbled up in my throat. “I hate feeling this way all the time. I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to.” Brushing the tears from my cheeks, I looked at him beseechingly, wanting—no, needing—him to understand. “This isn’t the life I thought we’d have. I don’t want this life. I want something better.”

  My voice was so quiet I feared he might not have heard me, but then his eyes grew wet as he looked down at me. His voice came out scratchy, full of regret. “We can fix this. I can fix this. You have to let me, baby.”

  “Sign the papers, Noah. Give me that. I haven’t asked you for anything. You owe me this.”

  He stood motionless for what felt like a lifetime before finally turning on his heels and storming from the room, papers still in hand.

  That was the last time I saw my husband.

  With a dramatic groan, I collapsed onto a bus bench, falling to my back in exhaustion as the people passed by and stared at my somewhat childish, yet completely justifiable behavior.

  “Jesus Christ, will you please get up? You’re acting like a baby.”

  Lifting my head just slightly, I tried to melt Rowan’s face off with my eyes. “No!” I spat as I lifted a hand to shield my eyes from the sun so I could give him the full potential of my go-to-hell gaze without the sun blinding me. “I’m freezing, I lost feeling in my fingers three shops ago, my shoes are filling up with blood, and if I have to listen to the words cut, color, clarity, or carat one more goddamned time, I’m going to lose my shit, Rowan. I swear to God.

  “Dear Christ,” he grumbled under his breath. “You’re just as dramatic is Navie. You’re both ridiculous.”

  “Are not!”

  “Are too—oh God, I can’t believe I’m having this conversation right now,” he laughed humorlessly as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. His rumpled hair did nothing but make him even better looking. If I didn’t hate him with a fiery passion for dragging me around half the friggin’ city looking for “the perfect ring” to propose to my best friend with, I’d willingly admit he was one of the best looking guys I’d ever laid eyes on, and I could totally understand why Navie fell for him. But I did hate him and I wanted him to suffer greatly; preferably from severe adult acne and grownup braces. But at that moment I’d take whatever I could get.

  “Your feet wouldn’t be bleeding if you didn’t insist on wearing ridiculous heels to walk around New York while we looked for rings. Now get your ass up and help me find the perfect ring!”

  “You know,” I started as I stood from the bench, my hands planted firmly on my hips. “I can now understand why Navie gets all stabby sometimes. Just an FYI, if she ever murders you, I’ll totally help her hide the body.”

  Not waiting for a response from him, I started up the sidewalk, my feet protesting every single step I took. Rowan was right, I picked the wrong shoes to traipse around the city to ring-shop in. But I’d be damned if I admitted that out loud. Besides, they looked fabulous, so the pain was worth it.

  “One more store, Rowan, that’s it.”

  “Well, you know what they say. Tenth time’s the charm.”

  He wasn’t kidding. We’d visited nine stores already. All of them held the most beautiful rings imaginable. Many of them, I knew for a fact Navie would love. None of them—according to Rowan—were good enough for his future fiancée.

  When he first asked me if I’d help him find a ring so he could propose to my best friend, I’d been ecstatic. He had it all planned out, he was going to pop the question when her family came to town and they finally mixed clans for the first time on Thanksgiving break.

  Even though I wasn’t a huge fan of the idea of marriage for my own personal reasons, I was thrilled that my friend had met the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. I wasn’t a believer in soul mates or happily-ever-afters, but just because I was a Negative Nancy didn’t mean I wasn’t happy for those I loved that still held on to that notion. After what I’d experienced earlier in my life, I was anti-matrimony, but I was still excited to be a part of my friend’s happiness.

  Now after a full day of this bullshit? Not so much.

  The bell jingled over the door as we stepped into the next store and out of the frigid New York winter air. It was like fate was smiling down on me, sympathetic to my poor feet and frostbit fingers, because the instant the door closed behind us I saw it, and judging by Rowan’s deep inhalation he spotted it too. We made a beeline for the case, both our mouths hanging open in awe. It was perfect!

  “That’s the one,” Rowan said at the same time I breathed, “That’s it.”

  A gorgeous sapphire, the same color as Navie’s eyes, shimmered as though a spotlight was focused on it. The center stone sat pillowed in sparkly clear diamonds. Think Princess Di, but a little more modern. It was classic. It was beautiful. It screamed antique. And as Rowan asked the jeweler to take it out of the case for closer inspection, I had to refrain from jumping up and down in the middle of the store, clapping for joy that I was finally off the hook. I never knew it was possible, but after my day with Rowan, I officially hated shopping.

  I stared at the ring in amazement, tuning out their muffled voices as Rowan made his transaction. All the while, I imagined how gorgeous it would look resting on Navie’s left ring finger. I couldn’t wait to see her reaction when he finally popped the question.

  On that thought, my phone rang from inside my purse. I stepped away, content to leave Rowan on his own now that I’d dutifully completed my part as bestest friend forever. I grinned as I saw the name on the display and swiped the screen, lifting it from my ear, thinking my day had just gotten better.

  “Hey, shrimp. How’s it going?”

  “Low-Low,” my brother spoke through the line. His voice broke and my heart sank. “I need you to come home. It’s Grammy.”

  And just like that, my good mood evaporated.

  I couldn’t believe I was back. Sure, I’d made a trip or two back to my hometown just outside of Jackson Hole, Wyoming each year for the holidays, but those were only long weekends. Three, maybe four, days at the most. I never thought I’d be stuck living here again. That wasn’t the plan when I ran away nearly six years ago.

  But my life had taken a sharp turn, nearly careening off the side of a cliff in the process, and I was left with no choice but to roll with the punches.

  As the room around me ebbed and flowed with the soft murmur of voices I wasn’t paying any attention to, I felt a slight pressure on my hand, my fingers being squeezed softly, and I was reminded of the reason why I was back. The reason why I gave up everything I had and returned to a place I hated. The reason why I was going to get my shit togeth
er and my head on straight, no matter what.

  Because I was the adult and he was the kid. He needed me more than I needed to escape. I was all he had left, and that wasn’t a position I took lightly. He meant everything to me.

  I turned my head and looked at Ethan sitting next to me in the pew, and I couldn’t help but smile. My little brother was getting so big. The boy was only fourteen years old and he was already nearly as big as me. It seemed like he’d grown a foot since the last time I visited.

  “Hey,” I whispered, nudging his shoulder with mine. “How you holding up, shrimp?”

  Clearly, my nickname for him no longer held the same meaning it had for the past fourteen years.

  Ethan cut his narrowed-eyed glare at me, trying to look tough even though I could see a tiny glimmer of humor in his hazel eyes. The very same hazel as my own. “Give it a week and I’ll be taller than you,” he whispered back, his voice slightly huskier than the last time I’d visited as well.

  Had I really been gone so long I missed my little brother beginning his transformation from boy to man? That thought sent a sharp, stabbing pain of guilt rushing through me. I had been a horrible sister to him. Abandoning him when he needed me because I’d been too wrapped up in my own selfishness to think about anything or anyone but myself.

  I squeezed his hand in return, needing the contact to keep me centered.

  “This is weird, right?” he asked quietly, his eyes scanning the pews as the minister performing my grandmother’s eulogy droned on and on in the dullest monotone voice I’d ever heard. How the people packed in the church hadn’t fallen asleep due to sheer boredom was beyond me. What had Grammy been thinking, picking this guy to speak on her behalf at her own funeral?

  Knowing my grandmother as well as I did, I had no doubt she was looking down on each and every one of us, laughing her ass off at our misery. She always said she had to get her kicks wherever she could.

  God, I missed her.

  “What’s weird, bud?”

  “It’s just... Grammy wasn’t even religious, really.” His eyes darted around the open area cautiously, like he was worried about being overheard and struck by lightning or something. “What’d she want this shit for anyway?”