The Tethered Soul of Easton Green: The Tethered Soul Series Book 1

by Laura C. Reden

  The Tethered Soul of Easton Green

  The Tethered Soul Series, Book 1

  Laura C. Reden

  The Tethered Soul of Easton Green:

  The Tethered Soul Series, Book 1

  Copyright © 2021 by Laura C. Reden

  Ebook: ISBN 978-1-954587-12-0

  Paperback: ISBN 978-1-954587-38-0

  Hardback: ISBN 978-1-954587-09-0

  Edited by Maxwell Anderson

  Cover designed by Laura C. Reden

  Cover Images:

  © Adobe Stock / paulrommer

  © Adobe Stock / Fernando Batista

  © Adobe Stock / alexlibris

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

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  Also by Laura C. Reden

  About the Author

  The Tethered Soul of Easton Green

  Chapter 1

  The first time I died was the hardest. I was a mess, not yet callused to say goodbye and overwhelmed by the fear of uncertainty. Still, it was one of my favorites . . . because that’s the one in which I met Easton Green.

  White knuckles gripped my steering wheel. My hands clenched tight as the tension turned to numbness. Mascara dripped from my cheeks. I lost my stomach, again. I was too young. There was so much I’d yet to see and experience. I’d never been in love.

  The windshield wipers screeched louder than the stereo, and even though the heat was cranked up as high as it could go, I was still chilled to the bone. It must have been shock. Bad things happen to good people. That’s what I told myself while forcing my concentration back to the road. The forest was barely visible through the condensation of my windows and the tears in my eyes. Few cars passed me on the winding two-lane road, momentarily blinding me as the wind threatened to push my truck outside of the lane. I shouldn’t have been driving in my condition. Especially not with the storm. The angels must have been crying for me this dreary afternoon.

  I wiped the snot from my nose on the sleeve of my forearm. I must have looked as terrible as I felt. I was a hideous wreck. Why me? What did I do to deserve this? It was the question that kept on giving. The more I thought about it, the more questions I had. Mom and Dad flashed into my mind, and my stomach dropped once more. This time, the thought came with pain—as sharp as a knife and as quick as deceit. How would I tell my parents? My brother? They would be even more devastated than I was. Certainly, it would be the worst part. I couldn’t do it. I refused. Call it fear, call it denial, but I wasn’t going to deal with any of it.

  As I crossed the wooden arch of the New River Bridge, the silhouette of a man appeared, standing high on top the guardrails. What was that!? I lurched out of my trance as I slammed on the brakes. The dark phantom resided in the forefront of my mind. The truck hydroplaned, sliding recklessly until it skidded to a stop with one wheel on top of the curb.

  My heart pounded. Was I trying to kill myself!? My hand wrapped around the rearview mirror, and I could see that he was still there, though I could barely make him out through the thick haze of the storm. I had to do something. Anything. But was this safe? I was confident the man was unwell, possibly planning to take his own life. I hesitated before unbuckling, but time was of the essence. I was going to die anyway. I would rather die a hero than whatever misery I had waiting for me in the seasons to come.

  I pushed my door open and stepped out into the rain. “Stop!” I screamed, but my voice was lost in the howling wind. Rain pelted my face. “Stop!” My voice splintered. Either he didn’t hear me, or he didn’t care. I ran straight for him. The decision was made by my legs alone. Completely involuntary. As I parted from my truck, rain saturated my hair, and water seeped through my sneakers. The engine running, and the door gaped open. Never in a million years could I have imagined a scenario where I would run straight for a deranged stranger, but my body deceived me in more ways than one. My heartstrings pulled like those of a marionette. It was at this moment that I lost all control. Fate was simply unraveling at my feet.

  “Don’t do it!” I cried out to him.

  Finally hearing my cries, the man turned his attention to me. He was no older than I was. His toes hung over the edge of the rail. It was a nine-hundred-foot plunge down to the river. And since this was the first rain of the year, it was sure to be particularly rocky. He would never make it. I stopped a good distance away, showing him my palms. I meant no harm. I only wanted to help.

  “What?” he yelled back to me through the bellowing wind, one hand holding onto a cable for balance.

  “You don’t have to do this!” It sounded cliché as soon as it left my mouth, but it was true, and he needed to hear it. Unlike me, he still had choices.

  He turned his focus back to the river rocks below. Taking advantage of his lack of attention, I inched my way closer. Slow and easy. “My name is Everly Beck, but everyone calls me Beck,” I shouted through the rain.

  I had once seen a special on tactics used to escape being held at gunpoint, and one of the tips was to let your attacker know personal details about you. Supposedly, the killer would be a little less murderous if they knew you shared common ground as dog lovers or tequila sunrise fans. Of course, this situation was different. The guy wasn’t holding me at gunpoint. He wasn’t trying to hurt me at all—only himself. And I hadn’t seen a special on tactics to stop a suicide. I wished I had.

  Still, I tried with what little information I had. “I know you’re having a shitty day. I am too! We have a lot in common!” I took another gradual step forward. He looked at me, then turned to the depths below. Shit! Too soon!

  “What makes you think I’m having a bad day?” he yelled into the distance between us.

  Wasn’t it obvious? “I see you’re about to do something really . . .” I stopped. I didn’t want to offend him in his fragile state. Who knows how much more he could take.

  “What? Say it! I’m about to do something really, what?” he snapped as he let go of the cable.

  “Oh, No! No! No! Don’t do that!” I crouched, ready to pounce on him. But I was still too far away. After a moment of frozen fear on both sides of the exchange, I inched closer. In that moment, I was nothing more than a hunter. My focus sharp and narrow. My heart racing like a Maserati. I was more alive now than ever before, and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a piece of me that was relieved to be worried about someone else for a change. My body began to tremble as my wet clothes clung to me, making the wind unbearable.

  “Really . . . Permanent! Please, just come down from there!” The negotiation reduced to begging as I wrapped my arms tightly around my body. They offered me no warmth.
>
  He began to laugh. I was taken aback by his outlandish sense of humor. He was anything but sane. He threw himself forward, and his feet slipped on the rail.

  “No!” I screamed like never before, my voice shattered like glass on concrete. My stomach dropped as I lunged, closing the gap between us to grab him. My frozen fingers barely grasped the back of his shirt as he fell to the sidewalk. He landed on his side with a thud. My momentum continued forward, and I tripped over his body, laying me out on the ground beside him.

  Our eyes met as I laid toppled over the stranger. I sucked in a quick breath as I released his shirt and retracted my hand. How did I find myself in such a compromised position with this man? The truck was far away now, but the door was still open and the stereo’s faint sound drifted to us from the distance. The pounding in my chest told me I should get out of there; I should run. But I was frozen. Like the stranger before me, I was in shock. His dark hair was plastered to the side of his face, and rain collected at his chin, forming one steady stream to his chest. Like me, he was panting. Quick and shallow breaths laced with anxiety. I trembled as a strong gust of wind blew and sheets of rain pelted down on me.

  Transfixed, I lingered a moment longer than I should have. He was unusual, alright; the whole situation was. I felt something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Something I would have liked to explore longer . . . had I not felt threatened by the uncertainty of the situation.

  An earsplitting clap of thunder jolted me from my trance, and I jumped to my feet. The guy continued to lay on the curb, drowning in the rain. He wasn’t a threat to me or anyone but himself. He was a broken soul. He closed his eyes and let the storm wash his resignation away. I glanced back at my truck before taking pity on him.

  “Can I drive you somewhere?” I asked him. The closest residence wasn’t for another five miles. He couldn’t walk in this weather. We were both shuddering, most likely from the cold but maybe an adrenaline overload too.

  He rolled onto his back and smiled up at me. “I’d like that,” he said and held out his hand. I reached down to help him to his feet. His hand was freezing, yet he still had a firm grip. He stood about a foot taller than my average height. Was this a bad idea? My heart was galloping, my mind racing. The whole day had been a series of unfortunate events. I hoped I would live through the night, but I wasn’t sure what my fate might hold.

  I started to ramble nervously. The more he knows . . .

  “I’m a full-time student. I’m studying to become a graphic designer.” I stopped abruptly, wincing when I realized that dream would never come true. “Um . . . I work at a coffee shop, mainly because they help pay for my tuition, but I really love getting free coffee too.”

  I unlocked my passenger’s door and sat in my now drenched truck. I shut my door, but the inside was just as wet and cold as the storm outside. The heater helped to calm my nerves—ever so slightly. I pushed my dripping, ash-blond hair out of my eyes before buckling up. He hadn’t said much at all, and the silence got to me.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” I prompted him.

  “Easton Green,” he replied as he held his hands up to the heater.

  “Nice to meet you, Easton,” I said. Nice to meet you? Was it, though? Nice? Or was it more like I had just met him in his darkest moment?

  Why did I even bother trying to be polite at this point? I frowned, racked with self-doubt. “Where am I taking you?” I asked, hating everything that came out of my mouth.

  He wasn’t as scary as I thought a stranger about to jump off the New River Bridge would be. He was surprisingly normal. And I was predictably awkward.

  “Um, it's just up here.” He vaguely pointed into the distance.

  I put my truck in reverse and backed off the curb. The ride was silent, except for the windshield wipers and the random claps of thunder that made me jump in my seat. I snuck little peeks at the wet stranger to my side as I drove. What was this guy thinking? He had presumably walked to the bridge in the middle of a storm in a T-shirt. I hadn’t seen his car or any car for that matter, and now he was getting a ride home in my beat-up red truck. How weird was this thing we called life?

  I came upon the small town of Clover. Easton was looking out his rain-drizzled window; nearly all of it was covered in fog. I drove slowly, allowing him the opportunity to talk, but he didn’t say anything—not even the directions to his home.

  Eventually, I had to ask. “Where do you live?”

  “You can just drop me off here or wherever’s convenient for you.” He waved his hand about.

  Drop him off wherever? Was he homeless? His clothes appeared new and stylish, even in their soaked state. I couldn’t drop him off at a gas station in this storm. What was I going to do? I searched the road for answers. He probably hadn’t eaten for a while. Maybe he didn’t have the money to buy dinner. It was a terrible situation to be in. Here I was having the worst day of my life, but I still had a roof over my head and a full belly. I still had a loving family and friends. Fleeting or not. I wasn’t broken. Not yet, anyway.

  I drove to a diner. “Come on, let’s get some dinner. Then you can be on your way,” I said, feeling somewhat responsible for the guy I found on the side of the road.

  I pulled into a parking spot. It looked like we were the only ones out in this weather. Unquestionably, I was the only one with a suicidal hitchhiker for a date.

  “Red Brick Diner” flickered above the entry, the B temporarily failing to light. Bells jingled as I opened the door, and the smell of coffee and pie wafted through the air. Red checkered accents covered the diner and screamed, stay—but not long. A short, curvy lady with large breasts and a name tag, on which “Sue” had been scribbled, greeted us at the door.

  “Just you two?” she asked as she grabbed a couple of menus, somehow managing to never make eye contact. I get it; life can be challenging, but if you’re going to work as a hostess, a fake smile would be nice.

  “Yes, please,” I said, but she was already walking away. We followed her to a booth in an isolated corner. “Can we start with a couple of coffees, please?” I asked Sue as we took our seats. The light blue vinyl was stained brown, and I presumed it was where kids had wiped their greasy hands instead of using a napkin.

  Sue said nothing in return, but I knew she’d heard me. Rude.

  “I don’t have my wallet on me,” Easton said, apologetically. He was planning on taking his life thirty minutes ago; I didn’t expect him to bring cash.

  “It’s on me. Get whatever you want,” I said and slid the menu across the table, still shaking in my wet clothes.

  Sue returned with two black coffees. I was eager to feel the heat from the inside out. She slammed the mugs down on the table, and coffee spilled over the edges. Was that necessary? I frowned at the puddle around my mug.

  Easton reached for his coffee, brushing up against Sue’s hand. “You . . . have the most beautiful eyes,” he said, looking up at Sue.

  What? What was happening?

  She melted. A high-pitched sound came from her throat. Her cheeks flushed, and a grin larger than life stretched across her face.

  “Aren’t you a devil!” she snickered. “Let me know when you are ready to order; I’ll just be over there. Take your time. Oh, and the clam chowder soup is delicious tonight. It might warm you up some.” Sue walked away with pep in her step.

  Who was this guy? I hid my smirk behind my coffee cup. Secondhand embarrassment was real. I knew my cheeks were as red as Sue’s. And with my pale, washed-out complexion, the red in my cheeks was a noticeable pop of color. Even so, my emotions would not go unnoticed.

  Easton looked at his menu as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Just another day for this young man. I stared at him in wonder. Something was weird about him. And I was nothing less than intrigued.

  I wanted to know what was going on in his head. Staring at him certainly wasn’t going to give me the answers I desired. If anything, it was going to make me look like the crazy one. T
he thunder clapped, and I jumped in my seat, spilling a few drops of coffee on my already soaked jeans.

  “This storm is wild, huh?” It was the best I had. Making small talk with a stranger was hard work.

  “The storm?” Easton looked out the diner window for a brief moment before continuing. “It’s quite the rager . . . Why do you think people like to talk about the weather?” Easton asked before placing his menu to the side of the table.

  What? Why was he challenging me? Why couldn’t he just say something generic about the rain? It’s crazy or I can’t believe it . . . anything.

  “I don’t know. Because it’s interesting?” I couldn’t help myself from sounding sarcastic. But I did think the weather was interesting. Why else would people stare out their windows and watch the lightning dance across the sky?

  “They talk about the weather because it’s usually the only obvious parallel topic between them. It’s happening all around them; therefore, they know they have something in common to talk to one another about,” he said, staring at me, his eyes full of intent. And for the first time, I realized how remarkable they were. Light blue like the glaciers in the Antarctic, but surprisingly warm.

  I suppose what he said was true. I had never thought of it like that.

  “But you and I have something else in common, don’t we?” he asked.

  Chapter 2

  Something in common? Did we? Was he dying too? Being so entranced in thought, I was startled when Sue asked for our order.