KISMET

by Leigh Ann Lunsford

  Dedication

  John & Evan ~ always and forever.

  Each book takes more.

  More of my time.

  More time from y’all.

  More take-out.

  And . . . each book you give me more.

  More love.

  More patience.

  More encouragement.

  Love you both. X0X0X

  Copyright © 2016 by Leigh Ann Lunsford

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  lalunsfordauthor@gmail.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Chelsea Kuhel (www.madisonseidler.com)

  Cover Design: Sassy Queens of Design

  Photographer: Lindee Robinson Photography

  Models: Ashtynne Hudecz & Jim Wiedenman,

  ISBN: 978-1539852971

  1539852970

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Other Works by Leigh Ann Lunsford

  I was sixteen.

  He was eighteen.

  I was forbidden.

  He didn’t play by the rules.

  I’m trying to find Adriane. If we aren’t at the officers’ table when dinner’s served, our asses will be grass. My dad is receiving a commendation for yet another mission that took him from us for a year. The first thing he said to me when he got back was, “Tone down the makeup, you look like a prostitute. Don’t embarrass me, Emberlee.”

  There were so many other things he could have said.

  “Sorry I missed your sixteenth birthday.”

  “Congratulations on straight A’s . . . again. I hear you’re in the running for Valedictorian.”

  “Thank you for helping your mother.”

  “Thank you for not becoming a whore like Adriane.”

  I wait each time he comes home for him to tell me he loves me — in sixteen years of missions you’d think I’d give up.

  He loves his country. That’s admirable.

  He loves my mom, that’s expected and a gift.

  Me – I don’t know what he feels. Some days I think he hates me, and others I know he regrets me.

  “Adriane, come on.” I find her in her dad’s office . . . in his brandy. “Fuck, Adriane you’re gonna be in trouble.”

  “Live a little,” she slurs. I’m envious of her. She has the same life I do: a dad who puts duty before daughters, one that looks through her and not at her. And here she sits, sipping brandy and giving her archetypal ‘fuck you’ to all who see her.

  “Dinner will start in a few minutes. Hurry up!”

  “Relax. I’m getting my pre-game going. I’m heading to Deacon’s when we’re finished.”

  I don’t understand them. He pseudo-commits, and she follows suit. I for sure don’t understand her need to drink before having sex with him. I mean that boy’s easy on the eyes. Our core group of six is an attractive bunch. Deacon, Mason, Caden, Avery, Adriane, and me.

  Our parents are best friends, so it was expected of us. It isn’t a hardship . . . except Adriane. I don’t know if you can be friends with her. I pretend. I strive to be her friend, but she’s just . . . Adriane. “I’ll meet you at the table.” I rush from the office and bump into a hard body. His arms shoot forward to steady me, and I look into the most intense brown eyes I’ve ever seen. They aren’t just brown. They're chocolate. Mocha. Dreamy.

  “You okay?” That voice. Sex on a stick dripped in multiple orgasms. I talk a big game for being a virgin, but I just found a candidate to give that job to.

  “I’m fine.” I look at his uniform. Airman. My bet is that he’s a new recruit, but the Air Force will be his career. His life. I see them in and out of my house daily — someone for my father to bond with. To mentor since I’m such a disappointment.

  “Heading back to the dinner?” He hasn’t taken his gaze from my face, and I can’t stop watching his lips move.

  “Yes.” He extends his elbow for me to hold and escorts me in. My father greets him pleasantly while looking at me, as if I’m the gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

  “Brody. Thanks for finding my wayward daughter.”

  “No problem, Sir. She was just coming from the ladies room when I bumped into her. Powdering her face, I’m sure.” He lies well.

  My mind shouts danger, but my body shouts follow.

  He comes to my house every day for a week. My dad thinks it’s to learn and mold. I know it’s for me.

  The eighth day, he takes my virginity.

  The ninth day, he leaves for a mission with my dad.

  The thirtieth day I meet his fiancé.

  The thirty-first day I begin fucking my best friend. Mason Adler.

  The seventy-ninth day Adriane finds herself pregnant.

  The three hundred and fifty-fourth day, she delivers Julie Douglas.

  The four hundredth day she leaves.

  In between those days, Brody came over. He didn’t try to explain.

  He didn’t address me at all — looks like my father shaped him. Created a clone.

  I hate Brody Collier.

  I love Brody Collier.

  I hate him for making me love him.

  His voice is like gravel scraping my skin.

  His touch is like striking a match to my body.

  I’ve craved him for three years. I’ve hated him as long. “Good to see you again, Emberlee.” He’s got to be kidding. Good to fucking see me— as if.

  I bite my tongue to stop the retort I’d like to hurl. Instead I smile, nod, and mumble. “You too, Brody.” I chance looking at my dad to see if my greeting is up to snuff, and he doesn’t direct a sneer my way . . . that’s a plus. I’d rather be anywhere but this house for Thanksgiving break, and it’s always been my place of solace. My Aunt Clarice is a kindred soul. My dad’s sister— and his polar opposite.

  She’s lackadaisical.

  He’s regimented.

  She switches courses— habitually.

  He’s stayed true to one.

  I’m the daughter of an Air Force general . . . but not your typical military brat. I’ve been lucky enough to call one place home my entire life— Eastborough, Kansas. My dad’s been stationed at McConnell Air Force Base most of his career with some overseas assignments . . . which he prefers, it seems. The base is a quick fift
een minutes from our house, but as much as he’s home, you’d think it was in Siberia.

  I’ve seen Brody Collier many times over the years.

  He ignores me.

  I feign indifference.

  If I see his car in the driveway, I keep going. If I hear his voice, I disappear into my room. I’ve eluded dinners under the premise of studying or plans. The last months at school it’s been easier to avoid him. The last thing I expected when I was summoned to Thanksgiving break at my aunt’s was an interlude with him.

  “How’s school going?” Brody engages me in conversation. I’m pretty sure my face and body are flashing Do Not Disturb in neon, but he seems oblivious. Or obtuse. More than likely the latter.

  “Fine.” I turn to find Aunt Clarice. “Do you need any help?” My voice is laced with desperation . . . anything to remove me from this situation without angering my father.

  Her impish smile present, “No, dear. Visit with your father’s friend. We adults are going on the deck to have a cocktail.” My stomach rolls in trepidation, sweat coating my hands. I swallow down the fear . . . not of him per se, but what he represents. A weak girl. A lovesick fool. It’s what he made me. What I allowed him to bring me to.

  “Brody can join us,” my dad commands. Nobody argues . . . except Aunt Clarice.

  “Nonsense, Gerald. I have some things to discuss. Privately.” Her raised eyebrow and stern voice match my dad’s posturing. Ever mindful of his perfect persona being questioned he nods in agreement. As each one retreats through the back door, I fight the urge to run after them like a toddler, wrapping myself around their legs, begging them not to leave me here fending for myself. Against the one person who destroyed me. Of course, that wouldn’t be an acceptable behavior in the Winchester household. Instead, I stand taller, shoulders back, placing the invisible force field in between me and the man I crave.

  The man who I cry for each night.

  The man who is so much like my father it makes me sick.

  The man, who, despite all of this is standing in front of me— acting as if our history is a moot point. Acting as if he isn’t responsible for the destruction left in his wake.

  The man I can’t dare look in the eyes because those acorn colored orbs will devour me. Chew me up. Spit me out. Rinse all evidence of my existence down the drain.

  His throat clearing forces me to stand taller, practically on my tiptoes. If he can’t intimidate me, he’ll leave me alone. “How have you been?” His words roll off his tongue like he’s brokering a deal of some kind. Smooth, just a smidge of emotion. Curious, but not over eager. I’d like to punch him in his dick sucker.

  “Fine, Brody. We can stop the pleasantries. You made yourself clear three years ago when I met Melody. Your fiancé.” Uttering those words causes nausea to pitch in my stomach. I swore he’d never get the satisfaction of seeing me like this, but my broken body and heart betray me. I want to shrug off the humiliation he’s causing me to relive, but it swarms me – drowns me. My eyes water, my cheeks flame, and I still can’t look at him. I’m transported . . . lost in the bewilderment of that day and each one that ensued.

  Sitting at my vanity brushing my hair, my hand finds its way to my mouth. Rubbing my lips, remembering the feel of his pressed against mine. It’s been twenty-two days since I’ve felt the roughness of his hands roaming my skin, the burn followed by the pleasure of him entering my body, the possessive way he growled my name as I gave him something he cherished.

  Three weeks and one day since he declared I was his. His voice roughened by determination, making me believe the conviction of his words. He had to deploy the next day with my dad on some covert mission. We hadn’t had a chance to decide how we’d tell anyone what transpired. “Let me worry about it, Emberlee. I’ll make sure nothing can tear you from me.” I was worried because I was barely sixteen, him almost nineteen, and my father was his superior.

  The doorbell chimes, and I hear my mom’s voice floating up the stairs. I rush down hoping he’s back. I envision a unicorn and rainbows . . . isn’t that every fairytale? Instead, a stunning red head greets me. Tall. Built. Full lips. Tight dress. A direct contrast to what I am. “Emberlee,” my mom interrupts my staring. “This is Melody. She’s Brody’s fiancé and came to pick up the briefcase he forgot. Do you know where it is?”

  I freeze.

  I crumble internally. I’m sure my face shows the pain. Melody isn’t mocking . . . she’s studying, and I know she can see through me.

  “I think it’s in the guest room. I’ll get it.” I know exactly where it is. It’s tucked in my closet . . . I was keeping it safe for his return. Rushing up the stairs, my shaky legs slowing my escape, I seek refuge for a few seconds. I need to get the briefcase and get the fuck out of this house.

  Adriane.

  She’ll know what to do. Gripping the handles of the brown leather, I allow the first tear to escape. Not now, not here – too many questions I don’t have answers to. Grabbing my keys and phone, I stop at the bottom of the stairs, handing her what she came to collect. Her eyes are soft, unguarded, and I heave the case at her. “Here you go.” I force a cheerfulness I don’t feel. Turning to my mom, “I’m going to Adriane’s.” I rush through the door, ignoring her protest. She’ll overlook my abruptness . . . if my father was here, that’d be a different story.

  In my car, I speed down the street, pulling over at the park, and dial Adriane. No answer. I send a text. No response. My shoulders shake, my sobs echo, my heart – stops. Banging on my window causes me to jump and I see Mason. He’s shirtless, drenched in sweat . . . undoubtedly returning from a run. He tries my door, and it’s locked. I don’t want to deal with him; he’ll joke, try to find the source causing my meltdown, make light of the situation. I shake my head, and his eyes search the area. He runs and picks up a stepping-stone, and I unlock my door because he will smash my window . . . he’s bat shit crazy like that. “What the fuck, Lee Lee?” His voice roars, laced with concern.

  “Make me forget,” I plead. If I could kneel and beg . . . pray . . . whatever, I would. “Please.”

  He pulls me from the seat and wraps me in his arms. “I’m here,” he promises.

  I’m safe.

  I’m secure.

  I’m loved in his embrace.

  I’m shattered by another.

  Brody’s hand brushes my shoulder, stunning me to the present. My body curling into itself, wracking sobs escape. I meet his gaze. Those eyes and what they show warm me.

  Regret.

  Shame.

  Remorse.

  The same eyes that bore into mine, promising me a future, promising me he’d protect me, that I was his . . . the same lips that spoke those lies are drawn tight, and I won’t listen to another thing that comes from them. Pulling away, flinching from his touch while craving the imprint he leaves on my skin, I refuse to lower my gaze. “Don’t touch me.” I escape the kitchen, run through the front door to the trails I know I can get lost in. I’ve done it my entire childhood.

  Once I’m sure I’m deep enough in the woods, I succumb to the pressure in my chest. I let the memories I was lost in sweep over me. I begged Mason to make me forget. His idea was to ply me with alcohol. Mine was to have sex. He won.

  Until the next morning— I told him all my secrets in the obscurity of night, but in the light of day, I needed something to erase the cloak of darkness engulfing me.

  He’d made sure I was sober. He’d made sure I knew this was a fuck buddy only relationship— one I was willing to agree to. That’s what we’ve had for three years, and I’ve never regretted it. He does his thing . . . I do mine. When we have an itch, it gets scratched. I’m monogamous to a non-committed relationship— he wraps it before he bags another. It works for us.

  He saved me.

  Many times through the years he’s tried to break things off. It’s easy. It’s earth shattering sex . . . can’t lie regarding his ability. It’s fulfilling in one way, lacking in all the others. I don’t search
for anything that’s absent, and he doesn’t promise something he’s incapable of.

  Our friends questioned our sanity. They were scared it would change the dynamics. That’s not what it did.

  Adriane.

  Julie.

  Saylor.

  They caused the shift— not Mason and I fucking. And I could kill Adriane for not meeting me here. She promised she’d try last week. I don’t know why I continue trying to make her see reason. She’s missing out on Julie just as my father is missing out on me. The men in my life, the ones I beg to be loved by— my dad and Brody— continue to cast me aside, and it’s time I ask myself what I’m lacking. It’s a pattern that can’t be ignored any longer.

  Her green eyes were lackluster. When she first noted I was here there was a spark, bringing them to the color of emeralds— fiery like the night we spent together. As she faded— retreating into herself, tormented in memories, they dulled. Her pale skin became translucent showing the veins underneath, and I’ve never been more disgusted with myself. Not even the night I got the call . . . which prompted me to destroy the girl I was falling for twenty-four hours later.

  My body fights to go after her; my mind forces me to stay here. She needs this time to pull herself together. She’s closed tight, and one misplaced word will set her off. Exploding may be good for her, but I need to show her respect by refusing to push her. Break her down, make her listen— all bets are off. She’ll see reason, if anything I’m persistent and good at wearing down the opposition. In my wildest dreams, I didn’t expect us to face off . . . I wanted us to unite, join forces.

  I was no saint. I should have left her alone that night. That wasn’t an option when she bumped into me. I’d seen her come in with her father, my mentor and superior, but I was clueless to the fact she was sixteen. She was refined, yet raw. Her lithe body was temptation, the gentle sway of her hips when she and her friend disappeared to the Officers’ Headquarters. I followed her like the force she was.