“It was everything,” I yell, and Eric gives a bemused laugh.
To the star in the sky, I add, and it was enough to help me see what you wanted me to see. To know that I can do it. Taking the risk is half the achievement.
Half an hour later, I’m out of the equipment and taking a moment on the green landing field.
“Come on, Eleanor,” Eric calls from the shed, and I look back over to him and smile. He’s kind of cute. He has a shock of black hair and a winning smile that melts from head to toe. He’s also completely and utterly not my type.
But I’m proud of myself for noticing anyway.
I run my hands along the side of my head, pushing back my curls, and take one last look up at the sky. A fiery orange strip of sun has burnt its way along the edge of the horizon, casting a warm yellow glow over everything.
My star is no longer there. Now it’s just me and this brand new day, full of life without the man I love.
And tinged with hope.
Because for the first time in three months, I hope for something more.
My feet move of their own accord, heading toward the office building Eric disappeared into. Just before I go too far, I turn back. A hot-air balloon rises in the sky in the distance, the balloon gay in the morning breeze. That scent of eucalyptus and saltwater and home infiltrates my nostrils, and I smile.
And it feels good.
I press my hand to my lips, ready to blow a kiss. “I’ll find you in the stars,” I whisper, then press my lips to my hand and blow.
And I know my love will carry on the breeze, through the trees, and it will find him somehow. I know that he will look out for me, no matter where I am.
Always.
Forever.
Eternally.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you so much for buying this book. It means so much to me to know that you took the time to read something I created. All of my gratitude goes straight to you! If you would like to keep in touch, please sign up to my e-newsletter, join my reader group on Facebook, Lauren’s Foxes, or simply follow my facebook page. I’d love to connect with you.
Of course, I need to thank my talented cover designer, Kim, for the beautiful job she did on this cover. It’s yet another gorgeous piece—thanks so much, lovely!
My beta readers, you’re all amazing! Simone (I can’t believe you read it twice!), Stace, Jenn and Kristine—I can’t release a book without you. You’re all so talented and kind, and I am stoked to call you guys friends. Also, to the lovely ladies at Hot Tree—your words make my words better! Thanks for your time and effort.
The gorgeous Sali, you helped talk me off the ledge and introduced me to Voxer. Oh yeah! And you made this story a zillion times more than it could ever have been without you. Thanks so much for all your help.
To the fabulous Kylie, Beth and the Give Me Books team, you always nail my promo and I love you so much for it. Thanks for your professional work.
Every blogger who takes the time to read and review, I salute you! I’m honoured that you’ve chosen to read my work. Thank you once again.
Finally, to my gorgeous family and friends, with a special shout-out to the coolest doctor in the land, Ms Whitfield, and of course my sexy husband. You’re my greatest love story.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Romance reads that make you feel ...
Lauren K. McKellar is the author of contemporary reads that make you feel. With a passion for all books Young and New Adult, she is currently the author of four self-published books, all of which have held top 50 charting places digitally within Australia. Lauren loves to write about real-life issues, and is a passionate researcher when it comes to her work. She’s a big believer in creating works that make people feel.
Lauren lives by the beach in Australia with her husband and their two dogs. Most of the time, all three of them are well behaved.
Sign up to her e-newsletter here, visit her website here, or find her on Facebook here. You can also check her out with the tag @LaurenKMcKellar on Instagram and Twitter.
ALSO BY THIS AUTHOR ...
EMERALD COVE SERIES
How To Save A Life
Life is not a love song ...
I learnt the hard way that labels stick. Laura took “lovely”, and the teacher branded me “lady-like”. It stuck with me, even through my high school years. It felt like that was all I’d ever be.
Until everything changed.
Lonely Lia.
Little Lia.
Lia the liar.
Lia the lost ...
Now the choices are endless. But I don’t want to be any of those either.
My name is Lia Stanton. And this is my story.
***
“Wow, just wow!” – Seraphim Book Reviews
“One-click this book and prepare for a freight train of emotions.” Kylie’s Fiction Addiction
PLUS stay tuned for more of Ellie and Danica in The Mayfield Sisters
CRAZY IN LOVE SERIES
#1 The Problem With Crazy
What would you do if the one man you loved thought you were going crazy?
“Heartbreaking, life-affirming—one of my all-time favourites.” Glass Paper Ink Book Blog
#2 Eleven Weeks
Seven shots. Five siblings. Two boys.
One heartbeat.
“McKellar has a story-telling gift; anything she writes is an automatic one-click for me.” Jennifer Ryder, author
#3 The Problem With Heartache
The one thing he can’t forgive.
The one thing she can’t forget.
“Another keeper, another page-turner—a book that will hook you from start to finish.” Book Freak [cha]
#4 One Lie (coming 2016)
Every story needs a villain.
Too bad Lottie’s her own.
WANT MORE? READ A SAMPLE FROM THE PROBLEM WITH CRAZY ...
Chapter One
The problem with crazy is that crazy, by itself, has no context. It can be good crazy, bad crazy ... or crazy crazy, the kind that makes you turn your head and avoid eye contact, even though you know you shouldn’t.
Sometimes it can be thrown about with vicious intent, like when my mum used it against my dad.
“I am going to go crazy at your father, if he eventually decides to grace us with his presence,” Mum hissed at me. I say ‘at’ because even though her eyes were darting to all four corners of the full-to-exploding hall, spit still landed square in the middle of my left cheek.
“Mu-um.” I sighed. I was pissed, too, though. I could accept his missing my birthday and Christmas last year, after he’d run out of our lives without a trace, but come on; what kind of father calls to say he’s coming, and then is late to his only daughter’s graduation?
“Kate, it’s the least he could do,” Mum mumbled. She was taking huge strides down the side of the hall, scanning the hordes of seated parents and students for an empty chair. Other parents and graduates-to-be milled around, a buzz of excitement filling the auditorium. Up on stage, our principal, Mr McDonald, was speaking to a few class captains. Suck-ups. “I’ve not had a cent from him in more than a year, and now he thinks he can just walk back into your life to play father at your graduation? If that drunken idiot thinks I’ll sit next to him when he finally does get here, he is going to be sorely mistaken.”
“I doubt he thinks that,” I breathed. Recounting my father’s sins, both on the phone to him and in my presence, was one of my mother’s favourite activities since he’d left.
“There. There’s a seat.” Mum extended a maroon-painted talon toward an empty chair in the front row. It matched her freshly pressed suit-dress perfectly. The talon, that is; not the chair. “It’ll be a better view for my photos, anyway.” I cringed. It was bad enough she was taking photos, but front and centre? Really?
I racked my brain, trying to come up with a contingency plan to get me out of this mess when I felt a cool pair of hands close over my eyes.
“Guess
who?” a deep voice asked from behind me.
“Dave!” I spun around to greet him, planting a tiny kiss on his cheek.
“Hey, Kate. Mrs T.” He nodded in Mum’s direction.
“Hi, Dave. You look just lovely,” Mum swooned at Dave’s tucked-in white school shirt and firmly fastened navy-blue tie. Even his hair was slicked up into neat little spikes, a change from the usual scruffy mess I loved running my hands through.
“Thanks. Hey, I’m sure my folks would like to sit with you, if you’re trying to find a seat.” Dave pointed his delicate musician’s finger toward an empty seat three rows behind us. His parents waved with fervour, and I said a silent prayer of thanks. “They’re just over there.”
“That is so kind of you to offer. I’ll go on and find them. You two kids get backstage—oh! Mr McDonald has turned on the microphone. They must be about to start.”
I turned toward where she was pointing and saw our school principal had indeed gripped his hand firmly around the microphone. The lights dimmed and the audience slowly hushed. I grabbed Dave’s arm and we raced to the door on the left hand side of the room, the one that would lead us to the wings.
Compared to the silence of the hall, backstage was chaos. The other 163 members of our school year milled about, a sea of navy check and white, all talking far too loudly with the exuberance of the released. This was it. In approximately sixty-four minutes, if the dress rehearsal was anything to go by, we would all be officially finished school. And I, for one, couldn’t wait.
“You guys! Can you please get into alphabetical order?” Stacey whined from her position at the top of the stairs. Her blonde ponytail bobbed up and down she brought her fingers to her temple. No one seemed to be listening. Apparently, graduation was the one time she couldn’t make our entire year stand still and take notice.
“Oh, Kate. Good, you’re here.” She bounced over to my side, blue eyes sparkling as she scanned me up and down. “I was getting worried. What took you so long?”
“You know ... She couldn’t decide what to wear.” Dave joked.
“But—it’s school uniform today.” Stacey tilted her head to the side. I sucked in a breath and ignored the elbow to the ribs Dave gave me. Sometimes, I wondered how Stacey had gotten through high school alive.
“Well, helloooo Stacey.” Michael came up from behind, giving her a skirt a quick tug as he scooted his way into our circle. Stacey gave his puppy-dog eyes a quick glare, her hands quickly smoothing the material back down and making sure her assets were firmly covered.
That was how, I reminded myself. With a body like that and eyes that could kill, Stacey had done more than attend high school. She veritably ruled the school.
“Dave, man, how you doing?” Michael asked, clapping his weathered hand on my boyfriend’s shoulder.
“I think I’ll be better in an hour or so.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Not to interrupt your male bonding session, but can you please line up in alphabetical? It’s important,” Stacey pleaded, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Your wish is my command.” Michael bowed.
“Right.” Stacey narrowed her eyes at us, gave a sharp nod, and then spun on her heel. “I’ll see you when we’re graduates, Kate.” She threw one hand up in the air and charged to the front of the line.
“Man, when is that chick gonna notice I’m alive?” Michael turned to watch her go. “Sometimes I think she’ll date anyone but me.”
“When we’re on tour with Coal she won’t be able to help but notice you,” Dave said. His green eyes came alive, widening at the thought of their upcoming tour.
“You know it. This will be our time to shine.” Michael nodded. “It’s a good thing your girlfriend is so good at organising things. We’d never have made the tour if she hadn’t hit them up.”
“It was nothing.” I felt the heat rise in my cheeks.
“Yeah, it’s not like she wrote the songs.” Dave stroked the back of my hair, bringing shiny brown strands of it to rest over my shoulder. “It was probably just seeing her face on our album cover. She’s too pretty to say no to.”
“Dave.” I slapped him playfully across the chest, unsure if it was an insult or a compliment.
“Hey! I’m not saying you weren’t part of the reason we got the spot.” His hands were up in the air in defence. “And when we’re famous rock stars, you can live a life of luxury as payment.”
“I can’t wait,” I whispered, turning to him. He stood deliciously close. He wrapped his arms around my neck and I inhaled his scent—exotic, spicy, and loaded with cologne.
“I can’t wait for the first night of tour,” he spoke into my hair. “For our first night.” His words were loaded with meaning. I felt his hands travel a little lower, skimming over the curves of my hips. My school skirt suddenly felt very thin, and very short.
“Guys, get a room,” Michael said. I pulled away, my face hot for the second time that day.
“We will. On tour!” Dave laughed, and threw his hand up in the air. Michael laughed and high-fived him right back, and I pretended to ignore their stupid boy banter. Nothing makes a girl feel special like a joke about losing her virginity, made by her boyfriend.
It was lucky I loved Dave—because sometimes he could be a downright jerk.
“Everybody, please line up NOW. They have STARTED ALREADY.” Stacey’s hands were on her hips as her blonde hair tossed from side to side.
“She’s so cute when she’s mad.” Michael smiled.
“Good luck.” I leaned in and kissed Dave on the cheek.
I made my way to my spot in line, leaving the two boys to walk to their allocated places in alphabetical order. They were next to each other, Belconnen and Belmonte. They’d actually met in roll call one year; funny to think they were now co-founders of one of the biggest on-the-verge bands today. I grinned a smug smile. Thanks in part to me, no matter what Dave said.
A blanket of silence settled over the line and I chewed my lip. I wondered if Dad made it, then hated myself for doing so. I hadn’t needed him for the past year, and I didn’t need him now. Mum and I did just fine without him.
The line shuffled forward and I felt the butterflies kicking around my stomach. This was it. I was going to graduate. My whole future was ahead of me, planning tours and events for the band, spending time with Dave, visiting different countries world over and—
“Tomlinson.” Mr McDonald’s voice boomed through the microphone, echoing backstage. I looked up. Front of the line already. I smoothed my hands down my blue-plaid skirt and plastered a smile on my face. Father or no, I was really doing this. I was finally going to graduate high school and go on the road with Dave—far, far away from here, from the memories that haunted our two-storey wooden house and this small, seaside town.
I strode out of the wings. In front of me, hundreds of parents gazed up at the stage, expectation written all over their faces. I swallowed. I’d never been great with crowds.
“A reminder that we’ll hold all clapping till the end of each letter,” Miss Lucas, the assistant principal, disciplined the parents as I crossed the stage to their side. Because nothing disrupts a school assembly like unruly clapping.
“Kate Tomlinson,” Mr McDonald said. I walked up to him and shook his hand, ignoring the stench of stale sweat seeping from his shirt. I took the certificate from Miss Lucas and stood front and centre on the stage, right in front of the photographer to get my formal shot. On the left-hand side of the floor in front of me, three quarters of my year lined up, holding their certificates, too. Sometimes, being almost at the end of the alphabet was a blessing. At least I had a reprieve on smiling from letters A to S.
“Okay, taking your photo in three, two—”
“Yyyyyyes! That’s my daughter!”
The voice came from the very back of the auditorium, accompanied by over-enthusiastic applause. My heart stopped beating for several seconds, stuck somewhere in between my throat and my chest.<
br />
What.
The.
Hell.
“Good job, Katie! Good—yob.” I hadn’t heard it for more than a year, but the voice was easily recognisable. It was my father.
My “dad”.
I scanned the room till I spotted him. He was pumping his hands together, standing in the doorway, his mouth slack-jawed, eyes alive with enthusiasm. His voice was slurred and loud, too loud. When he’d left home, he’d been drinking a bit, and Mum and I had hoped his absence would have toned down his boozing.
Clearly, it hadn’t worked.
I quickly glanced down to the floor beneath me, hoping that perhaps, by some weird stroke of fate, the parents and students with surnames A to S had failed to notice the display. It was no use. A hall of attentive eyes was flicking from me, to my dad, to the principal—back, back and forward, like spectators on an episode of Jerry Springer.
I was stunned. There was nothing in the student handbook about what to do when your father shows up drunk to your graduation. A few titters from students and parents alike spread throughout the room.
“Uh, I must remind you that you need to, uh, hold your applause to the end.” Mr McDonald pushed his thick, tortoiseshell-framed glasses back up his nose as he attempted to take control of the situation.
It was no use. Instead of stopping his applause, Dad took this as a sign he should focus on making his vocal celebrations heard, instead of using his hands.
“My! My girl!”
My heart stopped its momentary statuesque state and sprang back into life, beating in double-time, as if to make up for any seconds lost. What was going on? Had Dad lost his mind? Even when he’d been drinking a bit before he left us, it was never during the day, and it was never like this.
No parent was supposed to do this, ever. As a teenager, the embarrassing things you were supposed to worry about included freaking out your mum would pick you up from school wearing slippers and a dressing gown. Or—worse—that you’d go to a party and she’d ask to meet the parents.
Not this.
Never anything like this.
The Twenty-One (Emerald Cove #2) Page 24
