Holding On
Holding On: Book One
RACHAEL
BROWNELL
Holding On ~ book 1 in the Holding On Series
Copyright © 2014 by Rachael Brownell.
All rights reserved.
Cover Design by Marisa Shor of Cover Me, Darling
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the author as provided by USA copyright law.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United State of America.
ISBN: 978-1499390759
For my son Nicklas, the love of my life.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank my family.
My boyfriend, Jeremy, who finds a way to make me smile every day, who puts up with all my oddities and repeats himself countless times because I wasn’t listening the first time. My son, Nicklas, who is the absolute center of my universe and always will be. I love you very much.
My mom and dad, who have taught me a lot about life, how I want to live and who I want to be. Mom, you have always been my greatest supporter—thank you.
Finally, my sister who is the beauty and the brains in our family. Julie, I could not be more proud of the person you have become. Thank you all for helping me become the person that I am today and supporting me in my efforts to reach for the stars and achieve my dreams.
I would like to make a special thank you to my very first official reader, Jessy. She has been a great friend throughout the process of this book coming to life and a huge supporter of my writing. She gave me the courage to submit my work and the strength to remain positive if the outcome had been different. Thank you for your countless hours of listening to me worry and complain, bounce ideas off of you, and just plain talk about myself.
Prologue
Eight months, that’s not nearly long enough, I thought. There are so many things that can change your life completely in eight months, but is this one of them? As I sit there, watching him pull his shirt over his head, the muscles of his back rippling, the tattoo around his bicep teasing my eyes, I realized that eight months should not be long enough to fall in love. But was I?
I think I was trying to fight those feelings, knowing that in six short hours, it would be over. Things were changing. If things could change that much in eight months, then what would the next six hours bring? What about the next four months? The truth of the matter is that I am pretty sure I fell in love with him the first moment I saw him. Then his eyes, they remind me of my ring. It’s a beautiful dark-green princess-cut emerald. It’s not large, but the color is defined. In the darkness of the room, you cannot see the color clearly, but I can see it perfectly in my mind.
Looking down, twisting my ring as I stare at it, I realize that I will never forget this man or the things that he’s made me feel. Getting lost in my thoughts, a dip in the bed brings me back to reality. He’s dressed now, but his proximity to me makes my stomach flip anyway. You would think after everything that’s happened between us, I wouldn’t be affected by him this way, but I think those feelings are just intensified now. I have never felt this way about anyone before. His touch charges my body in a way that nothing else does. His proximity has my pulse racing the second he steps into a room. It’s almost like I can feel his presence before I can see him.
A year ago, I would have never pictured myself in this situation. There was nothing more important to me than tennis. I had no time for a boyfriend. I barely had time for my friends. I was completely focused on my recovery. I lost all sense of focus on New Year’s Eve, and it feels like I have yet to regain my composure. I think back on all the things that have changed over the past eight months and realize that I have changed too. My physical appearance, as average at it has always been, is about the only thing that reminds me of who I use to be and even it has changed in a way that I cannot describe.
“So what time do you have to leave in the morning?” I ask, glancing at my alarm clock over his shoulder. I’ve been watching it all night, even before he showed up, and it’s now close to 3:00 a.m. My mom’s at work and my sister is in the other room sleeping. She probably can’t hear us, but I feel the need to whisper just in case. Or maybe I was whispering because I was afraid to hear his answer. Either way, it was hard to miss the hesitance in my voice.
He reaches over and grabs my hand, stroking my knuckles lightly with his thumb. For a minute, I think that maybe he didn’t hear me because he hasn’t answered yet. I want to ask him again, but I can’t seem to find my voice. At the moment, I can’t even muster the strength to make eye contact with him. I know that he’s looking at me, but I don’t have the strength to look at him, so instead I just stare at our hands. His touch makes my hand feel like it’s on fire, and I am enjoying the burn just a little more than I should be. I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to give up this feeling.
“My parents think that I should try and be on the road by nine so I can beat traffic.” He had a long way to drive, I think, and I should not have kept him up so late. He should have stayed home to get some rest. We had said our good-byes yesterday afternoon, but I couldn’t let him go without one last night, and when he showed up a few hours ago, I knew he felt the same way. Now he was going to be driving on very little sleep, and I felt like an ass.
“Huh.” It’s the best I can come up with at the moment. Like usual, I am at a loss for words around him. I hear that he is saying something to me, but my mind is beginning to wander again. I can see the barbell piercing his left nipple through his shirt, and I feel the need to reach out and touch it, to touch him.
As if reading my mind, he reaches, pulls on my hand, and puts it flat against his chest over his heart. When I finally look up he’s staring at me. This feels all-too-familiar, and my breath catches in my throat. I can feel the muscles in my throat constricting as I try to exhale. My pulse is racing, and the only thing I can think about is how much I want to kiss him in that moment. I want to wrap my arms around his neck and pull him to me. I want to hold on to him, to this feeling, forever.
I have to say something, but I can’t find any words that I want to share with him because I sure as hell can’t tell him I love him. I don’t know how he’ll react. I would much rather live in my little bubble, where I can pretend for the next few minutes that maybe he does love me somewhere deep down inside. I want to live in that little bubble where I feel like everything we’ve been through, everything we worked so hard for, the odds that we beat were all for something greater than a short-term romance.
“So is that all you have to say? I’m leaving in a few hours and you have no thoughts to share with me? Because I find that hard to believe,” he says, pausing only for a brief moment like he needs to catch his breath before he continues. I can feel his heart rate starting to increase beneath my hand. His eyes are starting to dilate, and I’m finally able to release the breath I’ve been holding. “If those are the only words that you can manage right now, then maybe we can fill our time another way.”
There it is—his million-dollar smile. I can’t see his dimple winking at me, but I know that it is. He runs his hand through my long, thick dark-brown curls and starts to massage the back of my neck. As he leans towards me, I find myself playing with his pierced nipple. His lips are centimeters away from mine, my heart is pounding in my head, and I can barely remember to breath. His other hand slides up my bare thigh, and I close my eyes. I can feel the heat from his breath along my jaw. H
is lips graze the bottom of my ear lobe, and when I hear him whisper those three little words in my ear, I wonder if I am actually dreaming. When he brushes my bottom lip with his tongue, I know that I am wide awake.
I can feel my heart beginning to crack, knowing that this will not be able to last much longer. He begins to graze kisses along my jaw. When our lips meet, I know that I will be broken for a long time. I could kiss him forever, and I want to, but I only have minutes. I want days. I want weeks. I want forever! As he pulls away and our eyes meet, I realize that I don’t get any of those things. All I get is one last swift kiss before he’s gone.
I lie down on my bed, curl into a tight little ball, and begin to cry. When I hear his car start, I feel the crack in my chest getting bigger, and as the sounds of his engine start to dissipate, knowing that’s he’s gone, realizing that I was head over heels in love with him but didn’t tell him, that’s when my heart shatters completely.
Chapter One
Nine Months Earlier
It’s freezing cold outside and I should have brought a jacket. The sweat still dripping between my shoulder blades was making me shiver even worse. I tossed my bag in the backseat of my car and immediately pulled out my running pants and slipped them on over my tennis skirt. Why I didn’t change inside was beyond me. I was so excited to have my last “ordered” therapy that I just want to get home. Plus, it was my best friend’s birthday, and I couldn’t wait to celebrate.
Pulling out of the parking lot, I noticed the fresh snow that had fallen while I was inside. Michigan winters can be rough, but they are also very beautiful and very unpredictable. Last week, we had just a light dusting on the ground, and now it looked like we had close to three feet. It made me wonder how much more we’ll get before Christmas. Last year, we didn’t have any. We had a warm spell a couple of days before, and it all melted until after the holidays.
As I pulled into our apartment complex, I started to go through my to-do list in my head when I realized that my mom’s car was home. Why was she not at work? I glanced down at the clock on my dash, and it was 7:03 p.m. She was supposed to start her shift at the hospital at seven. This has to be bad, I thought. Mom never misses work; we can’t afford it.
I trudged inside, not really wanting to leave the warmth of my car since I was just beginning to feel my legs again. When I opened the front door, I was immediately surrounded by the smell of dinner. Not just any dinner, either, but enchiladas! That’s my mom’s famous “bad news dinner.” Crap! I didn’t need this right now. I had to be ready in less than forty-five minutes if we are going to make it to the movie on time. Rounding the living room, I decided to head straight for the shower.
Her news was going to have to wait. As I reached for the handle, thankful that I made it past my mom undetected, I heard my sister. The door was locked, and I could hear she was crying to someone on the phone. Crying? Double crap! This was worse than I thought it was going to be. My sister never cries. Broken finger, twisted ankle, softball to the eye, she is tougher than I am and has her emotions completely in check. I am the family cry baby, and it has always been that way. I wear my emotions on my sleeve—you never have to guess how I feel.
Choices? I could try to slip into my room and go to the movie without a shower. Yuck! I couldn’t sit that close to someone else and fear that I smell bad. I could beat down the door, but that would not solve anything, and my mom would know that I was home. If she knew I was here, she would corner me, and then I was stuck talking about her news. The only other option was to leave and go somewhere else to shower. That would put me way over my forty-five-minute time limit though. Crap!
Just as I was about to tangle with option 1 and which perfume I was going to overspray on myself, the door opened, and my sister, bloodshot eyes and tear-stained face, walked out. I gave her an “Are you all right” look, and she started to cry again and bolted for her room. I heard the lock click into place and began to wonder just how bad my mom’s news really was, but I needed a shower. I needed to get ready to go out. I needed to avoid my mom at all costs now, or my eyes and face were going to look twice as bad as my sisters, and that was not what I needed right then.
Shower, check. Hair, check. Makeup, check. Time, 7:35 p.m. Excellent! I had ten minutes before I had to be ready. Just enough time for me to pick out what to wear. I opened my closet and grabbed a sweater. It should work, but now to find some clean jeans, I don’t think I had any. Looks like I was going to have to wear a skirt and my legs were going to freeze. I really needed to do laundry this weekend.
A knock on my door brought my thoughts back to reality. I bet it was my mom. She had left me alone this long, but I knew she would get me before I was able to get out of the house. I heard her open the door and walk in, but I kept my back to her, head still in my closet, pretending to pick out my clothes. I pulled my sweater on, but I needed to change out of my sweatpants still. I stared at myself in the mirror and continued to pretend that I hadn’t noticed her.
My hair looked great. I had straightened out most of the natural curls, curled the ends, and pulled it up into a high ponytail. My friends always wonder why I straighten my hair and then curl it. I was so used to the natural curls that this made me look different, and I liked it. It’s such a dark shade of brown that I really should consider doing something special with it over break. Maybe I could try blonde highlights? I gazed at my reflection in the mirror and tried to picture myself with highlights when I noticed my face. It’s flawless this week, and the little bit of makeup I put on really brought out the natural rosy tint on my cheeks. My eye makeup had made my bluish-hazel eyes pop and look a little smoky. Wow! I like the way that made me look.
I had almost forgotten that my mom was in the room when she cleared her throat, and I realized that we were going to have this conversation right now. So much for being able to escape unnoticed. I glanced at my alarm clock to check the time. I only had five minutes before I had to be ready, or we were going to be late to the movie.
“Hey, Mom, what are you doing home? I thought you had to work tonight,” I said.
Smooth—like I had no idea about my sister crying or the fact that making her special meal was a big red flag that something was wrong. I turned to continue digging in my closet, looking for my cleanest pair of jeans or cords. I needed something besides sweats to be able to leave the house.
“I took the night off, Becca. I needed to talk with you and your sister about something, and even though I wanted to do it together, your sister already got me to tell her. She seems to think that the only time I make enchiladas is when I have bad news.” She sounded confused by that statement, but all I could do was smile at her. It was amazing how bright and completely clueless my mom could be at the same time.
“She has a point, Mom. Last time you made them was when you told us you sold our house and we were moving into this crappy apartment. The time before was when you told us you and Dad were getting divorced. It seems like a bit of a pattern.” I had to pause at that point because I could feel myself getting emotional. “What’s the bad news this time? Did you lose your job?”
She looked nervous from where I was crouched down, and today, she looked a bit older than normal. She shuffled over to the bed and patted her hand beside her, so I moved to where she was at and sat down. As she took my hand in hers, I knew this was worse than I could have imagined.
“I didn’t lose my job, but I did find a new one that pays better. We’ll be able to get out of this little apartment, and I’ve even found us a perfect house that we can afford.” She was looking down now, so I knew this was not the only news and that the bad news was still coming. So far, everything sounded good. There was no reason that my sister should be crying about this.
“That sounds great, but I have a feeling I am not going to like the rest of what you have to say,” I replied, standing and crossing my arms. When she didn’t say anything right away, I looked at the clock and saw that my forty-five minutes was up and I had to get out
of my sweats and into something more appropriate. “Mom, I have to get changed. Brad is gonna be here any minute and—”
“It’s in Tucson, Becca. My new job is in Tucson. We’re leaving on January 1.”
She never looked up from the floor, and I never looked back as I left my room in a dead sprint. I grabbed my purse and keys off the entry table and ran to my car. I needed to focus on driving as far as I could, as fast as I could. No time for tears, I kept telling myself over and over again. No time for tears.
I pulled into the school parking lot and killed the engine. That’s when I broke. I could not even contain the loud sob that came. I opened the door and started to walk toward the courts. I should have grabbed shoes and a jacket. I ran back to the car and found my rain boots in the trunk and a blanket. I quickly swapped out my slippers for the boots and grabbed the blanket. I would have to make do with these.
The closer I got to the courts, the more I realized that with all the snow, I wouldn’t be able to open the gate, so I veered left and went into the baseball dugout. At least I was out of the wind. I plop down on the bench and curl up in the blanket the best I can. My body was numb, but not from the cold. It’s starting on the inside and working its way to my limbs. I was still crying, and I wanted to stop, but I just didn’t know how. My eyes were like a faucet that wouldn’t turn off.
I wasn’t prepared for this. My life was finally getting back on track. My shoulder was healed. The trainer had cleared me to practice today. I was going to be able to play with my team in the spring. My grades were good. I have finally been able to spend some quality time with my friends. I only have another year and a half until I go off to college. Why now? Why was she destroying everything now? Couldn’t she wait until I finished high school?
Holding On Page 1
