Why Now?
By Carey Heywood
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Why Now? is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is dedicated to my sisters, Joy and Kim. Joy keeps me honest and Kim sometimes likes my posts on Facebook.
I was a horribly annoying little sister. This dedication absolves me of all the crap I ever did to either of you. <3
Dedication
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Preview: Him
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Why Now?
He was my everything.
I loved him.
For over twenty years.
And everyone knew, including him.
But he never loved me back.
Not once.
Not ever.
So I moved on.
Until now.
Now he’s back, and wants to make me his.
He’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
I should be happy.
But there’s one problem.
My fiancé.
The puppy, all bones and scruff, trembled in my arms as I shielded him from those horrible boys. His desperate cries drew me to him. The boys, Marco, Henry, and Nelson had him cornered. They were taking turns trying to light his tail on fire; patches of it were already burnt by the time I got between them and him.
Those boys were bullies. On the bus, they’d trip kids who walked past them and pulled the hair of any girl unlucky enough to be sitting within arm’s reach. I hated them, but since they were bigger than me I avoided them.
I wasn’t avoiding them now. That thought didn’t even enter my brain when I saw them hurting that puppy. My legs took over and I ran, crossing the street and knocking the lighter out of Marco’s hand. He tried to push me away but I managed to avoid his hands and crouch next to the little dog.
It was at this moment I realized my mistake. How was I going to stop them from taking him from me and from beating me up after they had him? I should have gotten a grown-up.
“Move, bitch,” Nelson growled.
His words were so harsh I flinched as if struck. Still, I shook my head and shifted the puppy so he was farther away from them.
They moved closer.
“Go away and I won’t tell,” I shouted, too scared to look at any of them.
“You won’t tell after we’re done with you,” Marco taunted, stepping even closer.
Fear, true fear hit me. Each of these boys was twice my size. If I were lucky, I could get away from one of them but there’s no way I’d be able to avoid all three.
In vain, I kicked out at Nelson. He stepped to the left, easily avoiding my foot. Pulling my leg back, I was about to try to kick again when his foot connected with my side. The force of it pushed the air from my chest and I was breathless and weightless, my body lifting up off the ground.
Rocks bit into my knees as I reconnected with the earth. He kicked me. My mind was still reeling from the shock of pain and terror at what his next kick could do when I heard a shout that almost sounded like a roar from across the street.
My face turned and I watched in amazement as my neighbor charged across the street toward us. Nelson paled but didn’t run. Why would he? There were three of them and only one of him. Nelson opened his mouth but before he could say anything, my neighbor decked him in the face so hard that his nose started bleeding.
The pain in my side forgotten, I sat and pulled the puppy into my lap and watched as he took down Marco next. Henry tried to hit him but missed, and the boy hit Henry so hard he fell down. Nelson straightened, wiping the blood from his face.
“You like picking on little girls?” he asked, lifting two hands to push Nelson in the chest.
Nelson didn’t reply, instead he tried to punch my hero. His fist connected with his chest but it didn’t seem to hurt him. He returned the punch and Nelson ended up on the ground.
Once the three bullies stopped fighting back and stayed on the ground, he came over to help me up. “You okay, Killer?”
His grip was warm and solid around my hand. My lip trembled as I gazed up at him. His chest rose and fell as he caught his breath. My handsome hero.
That was when I fell in love with the boy who lived across the street.
I’m never drinking again.
This is the first thought that crosses my mind after I open my eyes and find myself curled in a fetal like position around my toilet.
I’m too old for this shit.
This thought immediately follows my first.
I always think of these two things after a night of drinking. Some people are blessed with a healthy tolerance for alcohol. I am not one of them.
Normally, I don’t drink a lot, two beers is usually my limit. Thing is, they were unveiling a new craft ale at Brew Master’s last night. It was so good I drank way more than I should have.
The porcelain base of the toilet is blessedly cool against the skin of my forehead. Unfortunately, it does nothing to dull the hangover headache brewing. My stomach rolls as I shift up on to one elbow.
My eyes close as I focus all of my attention on trying not to gag. My stomach was empty, that I was certain of, so dry heaving for the next thirty minutes was the last thing I wanted to do.
The slight shift in altitude from lying on the floor to being propped up on my elbow causes my head to thump painfully.
“Kacey!” Reilly shouts from somewhere in our apartment.
In my state, it’s like she blasted a car horn right into my ear.
“Kacey!”
Her shouting is getting closer and louder.
The door to my bathroom is open so even though I make no reply she quickly finds me.
“What are you doing on the floor?”
Slowly lifting my hand in a gesture of stop I whisper, “Shhhhhhhh.”
My evil best friend laughs and the pain that results in my head is what I imagine a train rolling over my forehead might feel like.
“I hate you,” I groan.
She drank twice as much as I did last night and is no worse for the wear. Reilly Whitmore can drink men twice her size under the table and wake up the next morning ready to do an Ironman while posing for the cover of a magazine.
She offers me her hand, which I gratefully accept, and she helps me to my feet. My walk over to my bed is far from graceful. My back is hunched with the hope of somehow keeping my torso co
mpressed to not anger my stomach further, and my steps are cautious to keep the thudding in my head at a manageable level.
Reilly has threatened on more than one occasion to record my walk of shame from my toilet to my bed. She’s positive it’s viral video gold. Thankfully, I invoked BFF rights and made her swear on the bonds of our friendship, and under threat I’d tell Brendan Lowell she was the one who stole all of his boxer shorts during the house party he held in tenth grade, that she wouldn’t do it.
My bed is blissfully soft in comparison to the tile floor of my bathroom. If I don’t move for the next six hours, I might be human again by tonight.
“Do I get to be your maid of honor?”
What?
Squinting one eye open at her I ask, “Huh?”
“Do I get to be your maid of honor?” She repeats.
Years ago, we both pledged to be each other’s maids of honor so I’m not sure why she’s bringing it up now.
“Sure,” I mumble, closing my eye in the hopes that she’ll go away.
“Have you picked out a date yet?”
My pillow is my new best friend. It’s soft, smells nice, and does not talk to me while I’m hung over. I start to tell her this but she interrupts me.
“I think a spring wedding would be best.”
Turning on to my back I grumble, “Why are you talking about weddings?”
She plops down onto my bed making me groan against the movement. “Because, Heath Mackey asked you to marry him last night and you said yes.”
Bolting upright, I gape at her, then I realize my stomach is not as empty as I thought it was. She jumps out of my way as I dash back to the bathroom.
When I’m done worshipping the porcelain goddess, I sink back onto my butt. Turning back toward my room, I find Reilly leaning against the doorjamb of my bathroom staring down at me.
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
She shakes her head.
Standing unassisted this time, I search for my phone. It’s still in my purse, which I dumped on the floor next to the door of my bedroom. Once it’s in my hand I scroll down to Heath’s number and press call.
He answers after one ring. “Hey, Ace.”
I ignore his greeting. “Are we engaged?”
There’s a pause.
“Heath?” I ask, my eyes locking on Reilly’s.
“I figured you changed your mind,” he replies after a beat.
His tone is so dejected it surprises me.
“You know me and alcohol. Last night is all blurry,” I start.
He cuts me off. “I’m coming over. I’ll be there in five.”
“Wait,” I begin but he’s already disconnected.
Dropping my phone onto my bed I groan, “Shit.”
Reilly steps into my path. “What did he say?”
Moving around her, I head back to my bathroom and turn on the shower. My hangover is long gone, banished by my mortification. There is no way I’m talking to Heath in yesterday’s clothes and with vomit breath. Leaving the door ajar so I can still talk with Reilly, I strip and hop in the shower.
“Heath is on his way over.”
The hot water is equal parts heaven and hell against my sore head. After the fastest shower known to man, I pull on my robe and hurriedly brush my teeth. Reilly is watching me with an amused expression when we hear a knock at the door.
“That must be him. Can you let him in while I throw on some clothes?”
She doesn’t argue, for once, and goes to the front door of our apartment. With little care as to what I’m pulling on, I get dressed. It’s not long before I hurry out into the living room to join them.
Heath looks as put together as Reilly does. Being a lightweight is not fair. His blond hair is tousled in that just rolled out of bed or a woman had her hands in his hair kind of way. He has that preppy-guy-who-still-surfs-every-weekend look going for him.
He looks in my direction as I approach, a guilty expression on his face. That sets me on edge. Reilly is perched on one side of our couch; the spot closest to the chair Heath is sitting in is open for me.
“What happened last night?” I ask, my gaze focused on Heath.
He presses his full lips together before he answers, “We got engaged.”
Lifting my hands, I point to my ring finger. “No, we didn’t. See, no ring.”
Shaking his head, he reaches for my hands, lowers them to my lap, and leaves his hands resting on them. “It’s the perfect solution to all our problems.”
Tugging my hands out from under his, I fold my arms across my chest. He pulls his hands away.
“Hear me out, Ace,” he goes on.
Lifting my brows in response is the only invitation I give.
“You know what’s going on with my mom, plus getting married will once and for all stop people in town from giving you grief about Jake.”
My lungs react before my brain can. I suck in air, my chest expanding before my brain has a chance to explode.
“That’s insane. I’m not going to get married just because I’m the town joke.”
Reilly butts in at this point. “No one thinks you’re a joke.”
My eyes slice to hers. “Bullshit.”
She opens her mouth to argue but I keep going, “You aren’t with me all the time. You don’t hear the whispers or see the looks of pity I get.”
“Kace,” she murmurs but says no more.
“Exactly,” Heath cuts in. “If we get married all of that will go away.”
My brows furrow as I consider his words. After I moment I disagree, “People know I’ve gone out on dates. That’s never stopped them before.”
He leans forward, his elbows coming to rest on his firm thighs. “There’s a big difference between dating and getting married.”
“You’re crazy.” I turn my head to look at Reilly. “He’s crazy.”
She stands. “She’s right. What may have seemed brilliant when you guys were both blitzed is insane. Your mom and Jake aren’t reasons to marry someone.”
Gesturing toward Reilly, I keep my eyes on Heath. “What Reilly said, besides, don’t you want to marry someone you’re in love with?”
He shrugs. “I don’t think being married to you would suck. You’re only mildly crazy compared to most girls and I wouldn’t kick you out of bed. And it would make my mom so happy. I might not love you but I do care about you and I think I’d make a good husband.”
Flying off the couch, I move closer to where Reilly stands and turn to face Heath. “I don’t want a good husband.”
He wrinkles his forehead in confusion.
“No, that came out wrong. I want a fantastic husband.”
I want Jake.
No, giving myself a mental shake I banish that thought.
I press my balled up fists to my chest as Reilly sets her hand sympathetically on my back. “I want someone who loves me, really and truly loves me.”
Heath’s eyes soften and he moves to stand in front of me, wrapping his arms around me and, with my hands still between us, hugs me to him.
“Maybe in time I could be that for you, Ace.”
“Why do you call me that?” I ask.
Heath isn’t the only person who has ever called me Ace, but he does it the most.
“It fits you. I’ve always thought you were special.”
Wow. That was unexpectedly sweet.
Gulping, I lift my eyes to his. One of his hands moves to brush away a tear I didn’t realize escaped. In slow motion, I watch him lower his head. Both of our eyes are open as he gently presses his lips to mine.
My hands turn, my fingers opening and closing again, this time clutching at the cotton of his faded tee. He doesn’t pull away and I watch in complete fascination as his eyes close. Before I know it, his tongue is pressing against the seam of my lips. Curious at the spark blooming within me, I open my mouth for him.
He wastes no time and deepens the kiss, his arms now crushing me to his chest.
Holy Shi
t.
Before I have a chance to fully lose myself to his kiss, the sound of Reilly clearing her throat behind me brings me back to earth. My heart pounds so loudly I wonder if Heath can hear it when I pull back. My eyes are on his face and when his eyes open, I’m surprised at the blatant hunger in them.
Could this actually work?
We’ve only ever been friends. He takes a step back, his expression moving from hungry to surprised. He clearly wasn’t expecting our kiss to go molten.
For the first time in my life, I take the time to truly consider the hotness that is Heath Mackey, and he is seriously hot. I was too wrapped up in Jake to ever notice him. Jake Whitmore has been the only guy I’ve wanted for the last twenty years. It took that long for me to finally get that he was never going to want me the same way.
Have I been overlooking the guy I’m actually meant to be with this whole time?
“I need to think about it,” I breathe.
He pushes his lips together and I wonder if he can still taste me. His taste, the feel of his firm lips, his clean soapy scent, and the warm hardness of his body are still wreaking havoc across my senses.
He starts to close the distance between us before stopping himself. “How long?”
“Heath,” is all I can say in response.
Getting it, he nods. “Let me know.”
“I will.”
He hesitates before moving toward the door.
After opening it, still standing in the threshold, he looks back at me. “When you think about it, think about that kiss. If you need any more convincing we could be good together,” his eyes slowly shift down my body before moving back to meet mine, “let me know.”
I stare at the now closed door for a full minute before I can look away. Reilly’s watching eyes are waiting for me when I turn.
“Did I semi make out with Heath Mackey?”
She solemnly nods.
Palm to my chest I murmur, “I just kissed Heath Mackey.”
She nods again and adds, “Front row seat, babe.”
Making my way over to the couch I sink down onto it before I say, “It was a seriously good kiss.”
“Better than—“She starts but stops when my eyes slice to hers.
Why Now? Page 1
