by Andi Loveall
EDGE OF SOMETHING MORE
Andi Loveall
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Copyright © 2015 by Andi Loveall
EDGE OF SOMETHING MORE by Andi Loveall
All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance. Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Georgia McBride Media Group, LLC.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Published by Swoon Romance
Cover designed by Najla Qamber Designs
Cover copyright © 2015 by Swoon Romance
EDGE OF SOMETHING MORE
Andi Loveall
Chapter One—Leaving
Devin realized the rumors were true before Jess opened her mouth to speak. He’d seen those freckled cheeks turn red from crying many times before, but she had never looked the way she did now, sitting on their unmade bed and clenching the sheets as she cried.
“I’m sorry,” was all she could squeak out.
An eerie calm blanketed him as he watched her. All of the confusion and guilt, all of the long, headache-inducing conversations that never led them anywhere, and now, they had their answer.
The calm lasted about ten seconds.
He fell to his knees and slammed his fist into the floor. His muscles locked up with rage.
“You swore it wasn’t true,” he said, voice cracking. “You swore, and I believed you.”
“I didn’t do this to hurt you. Please, Devin.”
“You didn’t deep throat another guy in the bathroom at your church to hurt me? Who were you trying to hurt? Jesus?”
“Stop! It wasn’t like that.”
“I’ve kissed you since then,” he said, fighting the urge to vomit.
“I don’t deny being a sinner,” she said, wiping away a tear. “Jesus will forgive me even if you won’t.”
“Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”
“Neil and I are in love, Devin. He’s a good Christian man—”
“This isn’t happening,” he said, leaning forward and clenching his fists against the side of his head. “Oh my God. This is not happening.”
“If you had just listened to me and started coming to church—”
“Yeah, well apparently, I had the wrong idea about church.”
“Neil wants kids, Devin! He wants kids now.”
He went into the bathroom and slammed the door, trembling too hard to cry. After today, he would never have to listen to Jess say the word kids again.
Instead, he sat on the edge of the tub, chewing his fingernails and listening as she sniffled and packed her suitcase. Her footsteps approached the outside of the door.
“I’m going to my parents’ place,” she said.
He ignored her, staring at the floor until the thud of the front door indicated that she had left the apartment. The stress slowly dissipated, replaced by a hollow, throbbing pain. Never again would he make Jess laugh. Never would they fuck, and never, ever would they kiss.
He lurched forward in a sobbing gag at the thought.
When he composed himself, he called Aaron and Dave, his once-again roommates. They came over and helped him pack his stuff, and he broke down, forcing them into an awkward attempt at comforting him. Then they spent the rest of the night drinking.
Clueless over his next move, he started doing all the things he had seen people do to get over a breakup in the movies. He jogged in the mornings and lifted weights, hoping he could sweat out her leftover traces. He lit a fire in a garbage can and burned all of her pictures and letters. She loved his shaggy brown hair, so he buzzed it all off, staring at his reflection in the mirror and imagining himself as the smart-eyed hero in an adventure story.
That was when it occurred to him. He could leave.
He always figured he would see the world, the same way people figure they’ll have a marriage or a great career. He would have left at eighteen if he hadn’t met Jess, but there was one perk to having four years of his life wasted—he had saved up over nine thousand dollars toward the down payment on a house. Before things got rough, they had planned to go for it at fifteen thousand dollars. Thank God he didn’t make much money.
He knew what he had to do now. He laughed aloud at the obviousness of it. This was the era of a new Devin who chased adventure and searched for real meaning. If he could leave this town and find something better, he would win. He spent a lot of time on the Internet, looking at various travel blogs and hoping a particular idea or location would stand out to him. Instead, it resulted in him wanting to do everything and go everywhere.
“I’m taking off,” he announced to Aaron a few days later as they were driving back from the grocery store. “I appreciate you guys taking me back in and all, but I’ve decided to alter my trajectory.”
“Where to?” Aaron asked.
“Anywhere,” Devin said. “I want to see the world.”
Aaron pondered it for a moment. “This is one of your Jew things, isn’t it? Oh my God, it is! This is your great pilgrimage.”
Devin laughed, rubbing his eyes with his hands. The idea made him feel grandiose. He wasn’t really Jewish—at least not in a religious way, but if there was ever a time to make a pilgrimage, it was now.
“You can admit it, dude. You can admit it’s a Jew thing.” Aaron held up a fist. “Mad respect.”
“You’re an idiot, and I’m only going to miss you a little.”
“You’re seriously leaving?”
“Yep. I called Ken earlier and gave him my two weeks’ notice.”
“Damn, bro,” Aaron said, turning onto their street. “What’s up with that? I thought you appreciated the sweet setup we have going here. Especially now that Dave’s parents pay for the cable.”
Aaron never struggled with optimism. That was one benefit of having no goals and expecting nothing out of life; the mediocre was satisfying. Every morning, Aaron went to work. Every afternoon, he lay on the couch watching television, cuddled up to his bong as if it were his baby. Devin envied him that way. Whenever Devin smoked, it didn’t bring on such a desirable sense of apathy. It made him dream of a cooler life with even greater intensity.
That night at work, he sat at the bar eating one of Chef Manuel’s famous jalapeno cheeseburgers, and tending to the few customers who came through. He only had to get up twice during his meal, and luckily, those two instances involved people who had come to talk to each other instead of him. He wasn’t going to miss the customer service, but oh, the jalapeno cheeseburgers. He liked his with extra tomato, and he always cut the whole thing in half and dipped it in ranch dressing. He washed the meal down with a lemon-lime soda. It felt amazing to enjoy food again. The stress had him so sick that he had lost his appetite for a while.
When he finished eating, he swept the floor and got everything cleaned up for Ken, who would relieve him in a minute. Just when he was about to get off, a guy came through the door.
He was maybe in his late thirties with a scraggly blond ponytail and a brown leather vest. He was carrying a big, worn-looking travel pack.
The guy set it on one of the barstools when he arrived, looking at Devin with a smile.
“Welcome,” Devin said, throwing down a coaster. “What can I get y
ou?”
“A pitcher, please.” His accent sounded British. “Cheapest you’ve got is fine.”
Devin poured the pitcher and got him a glass. “How you doing tonight?”
“Fine, thanks. Yourself?”
“I’m great,” Devin said with sarcasm. “I love being here. I could go home to my mansion, make love to that supermodel I married, and fall asleep on my big pile of money, but who needs that?”
The guy laughed. “Ah, good then!”
Devin grinned. “I take it you aren’t from around here.”
“What gave me away? The voice or the pack?”
“Both. And a general sense of elsewhere.”
“‘General sense of elsewhere.’ I like that.” He reached out. “Name’s Monty, and I’m from a place called Bournemouth.”
“I’m Devin,” he said, shaking his hand. “Is that by London?”
Monty laughed and shook his head, taking a swig of beer.
“No,” he said. “But I suppose by is a relative term, is it not? My country is smaller than this state.”
“Yeah. That’s true. Why are you here?”
“Just passing through,” Monty said. “Headed north to Portland.”
“What’re you doing up there?”
“Nothing.” Monty spoke the word as if it were an activity.
“You know,” Devin said. “I’m planning on hitting the road myself here pretty soon. I’m about to get off. Maybe I’ll join you for a beer?”
“I’d love that.”
Devin went to clock out, and Ken took over the bar for him. He was a tall black man, very fatherly and gentle, and he was kind enough to let employees hang out and drink for free when they were off the clock. He poured Devin and Monty another pitcher, and the two of them went to Devin’s favorite table in the back corner.
“Tell me everything,” Devin said, pouring himself a glass. “I want to know about a traveler’s life.”
“It’s not always easy,” Monty said. “There are positives and negatives, just like any other sort of life. Ten years ago, I walked out of the town I grew up in. I never went back.”
“Can I ask what you do for a living?”
“I’ll admit I’m a lucky gambler, but it’s mostly about reducing expenses to the most basic human needs and getting by without the rest of it. Houses, cell phones, electric bills—it’s all a prison. Possessions hold you back.”
“Yeah, but you have to live somewhere.”
“I get myself a nice hotel from time to time. Clean up a bit. But I mostly get by by woofing. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever done.”
Devin pictured him barking like a dog and paused, wondering if he should ask what woofing was or pretend that he already knew. He decided to take the bait.
“Woofing?”
“W.W.O.O.F,” Monty said, counting off each letter with his fingers. “It’s an acronym. Stands for worldwide opportunities on organic farms. There are all these places you see … farms, homesteads and the like. They need people to come and work for them, but instead of paying money, they feed you and give you shelter. They’re all about. Asia, Australia, South America … all about. Had some of the best times of my life. Some really bad times too, but even those made for interesting stories, eh?”
He shook his head and chuckled, apparently visiting a memory within himself. Devin paused to see if he was going to share one of these interesting stories with him. He didn’t.
“How do you find the places?” Devin asked.
“You sign up online, and they send you a book of listings.”
“Dude, thank you. It’s crazy that you came in tonight. I wanted to take off, but I couldn’t figure out what I would do. Now, I have an idea.”
“You should do it. Getting off the financial grid is an amazing experience. Working with your hands. Taking part in a community.”
“Aren’t you afraid of what might happen?” Devin said.
“How?”
“Doesn’t seem like that type of job would offer much security.”
“I don’t believe in fear.”
“And security?”
“I never had any to begin with, to tell you the truth.”
“Of everywhere you’ve seen in your travels, what’s your favorite place?”
Monty shrugged. “That’s an impossible question to answer. I have a lot.”
“Which one affected you the most?”
He thought about it. “Probably India.”
“Why?”
“It’s beautiful, and the culture is so different from anything I had ever experienced. There’s a lot of poverty, but everyone was so friendly and appreciative.”
“Interesting,” Devin said. “You need a visa, right?”
“Yes, and keep in mind, if you want to do the W.W.O.O.F. thing, they’ll expect you to have a work visa, which is harder to get.”
“I guess I need to get a passport before I do anything else.”
“Americans,” Monty said, chuckling. “Sometimes you do it right to yourselves, don’t you?”
Devin flushed a little. He had to start somewhere.
By the time Ken shut down the bar, Devin was well buzzed and ready to enjoy the four-block walk home. He and Monty said goodnight to Ken and walked out into the cool spring night. They stood side by side in the parking lot.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Devin said. “This is like fate.”
“In India, they believe strongly in fate.” Monty smiled and shook his hand. “Everything happens for a reason. But a friendly word of advice; often times, the reason isn’t what you think.”
Devin was far too drunk to think that one through, so he bid him goodnight and started on his way. When he reached the corner, he looked back and saw Monty crossing the street and heading for the motel on the other side of the freeway.
***
Despite his hangover, he woke up the next morning on a mission, and he spent the next few days preparing. He joined the W.W.O.O.F. organization and applied for his passport. He went to the clinic and got the recommended vaccines. He bought a high-quality headlamp, sleeping bag, travel pillow, and backpack. Every night, he stayed up late researching India and reading about W.W.O.O.F. experiences. His mother used to say he had a one-track mind. She always smiled when she said it, but it was hard to tell whether she thought it was a gift or a fault.
When the W.W.O.O.F. book came, he chose his first destination randomly, taunted by the concept of fate. He shut his eyes as the pages fluttered against his fingertips. He could always give himself a do-over if the work involved something crazy like animal slaughter or constant nudism. Occasional nudism might be a plus.
He took a deep breath and chose a page, letting his finger slide onto the center. He opened his eyes.
Hawk Beech Homestead in North Carolina. He read the listing:
Experience the beauty of the oldest mountains on Earth. We need kindred souls to take part in our many projects: Tending to vegetable, fruit, and herb gardens, taking care of our egg-laying hens or working in our organic vegetarian kitchen. We ask for three to four hours of community work each day in exchange for food and accommodations, which are rustic and usually shared. There are plenty of trails, rivers and waterfalls in the nearby area, and we make regular runs into town if you need personal goods. Space is limited, so please call or email ahead of time. We are: Walter and Raven.
It sounded good.
After a quick exchange of emails with Walter, he was accepted as a worker on the condition that he stay at least three weeks. He agreed and bought a ticket for Tuesday.
It was perfect. This would be his warm-up experience. By the time it was over, his passport would be in, and traipsing off into a foreign sunset, he would go. The universe was synchronizing around him like he was the center point in a giant kaleidoscope of win. The excitement made him giddy, and he impulsively canceled his cell phone, thinking it could be good to disconnect from the grid. He regretted it a minute later.
The ne
xt afternoon, Aaron dropped him off at his childhood home so he could visit with his father, which he wasn’t looking forward to. The dried-up flowerbeds were void of Devin’s mother’s presence, and the inside of the house was no different. Leon had stripped it down a few years ago, repainting and retiling everything. He never put her pictures back up.
They spent the first half of dinner avoiding the conversation. Leon liked to talk about politics, the economy, and anything else he could complain about, getting more worked up with each beer. However, at some point during every visit, he asked the standard question:
“So, what’s been happening with work?”
Most of the time, the asking of the standard question led to the standard argument, which revolved around how Devin had dropped out of college and decided against what Leon thought was the only acceptable alternative—working at the industrial plant. But this, of course, was no standard day.
“So,” Leon said. “What you’re telling me is that you’ve quit your low-paying job for a job that pays nothing.”
“It’s volunteer work,” Devin said. “It’s part of my vacation.”
“Another vacation you could try is the one where you paint yourself brown and head out to the fields with the immigrants.”
“Dad.”
Leon didn’t blink. “Did you stop to think about how hard it might be to get another job in this economy?”
“I’ll get another job when I want another job.” He shifted uncomfortably. Being reminded that he had no clue what he was doing wasn’t good. It messed with his moxie.
“And when will that be?”
He swallowed. “Whenever I decide to come back from India.”
And, from there it went. Devin fiddled with his fingernails as Leon attempted to educate him on the pitfalls of visiting “a third world shit hole” like India. This was expected; it was a well-known fact that Leon considered America to be the only country worth a damn.
“Why don’t you ask your friend at the liquor store what he thinks of India? If it were any good, why would he have left?”
