by S. Massery
Something Special
S. Massery
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Sara Massery
Independently published
Cover design by S. Massery
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.
For Rebecca,
Thank you for never letting me give up.
Also by S. Massery
Something Sacred
Broken Mercenaries Series
Blood Sky
Angel of Death
Morning Star
Contents
Author’s Note
Before
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part II
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part III
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
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Part IV
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Epilogue
Something Sacred
Author’s Note
Also by S. Massery
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Author’s Note
Something Special contains sensitive topics that may be considered triggering to some audiences, including sexual abuse and drug use. It is not suitable for readers under 18 years old.
Before
We ran and ran until there were no more houses, no more signs of life. All around us was a blinding array of colors; a forest full of light and promise danced around us. The sun filtered through trees, creating illusions of spiraling fairies. This far exceeded any adventure we had taken before. The sky was too blue, the forest too green, my heart too full.
The backpack started choking me as Jared flickered in and out of sight ahead of me. “Stop,” I hollered. It reverberated in the quiet around us, in the stillness of the woods.
I never doubted that he would come back. A second later, he bounded toward me, wearing a grin that slid over his features.
I thought he might be worried. There was something in the shadows and cracks of his smile, but I couldn’t think of anything else when his hand grazed my arm. We had known each other forever, but things were shifting. He was becoming someone else. I was, too, but at a slower rate. Our adventures were few and far between now. We were growing up.
“Let go,” he said as I stood there frozen. He was taking the pack from me, shouldering it over his own. “Come on, slowpoke.”
He spun and followed the trail deeper. He kept up such a brutal pace, I was sure my lungs were going to explode. He’d have to explain it to the police and my parents. I wasn’t sure which he would find more terrifying.
I followed him. Of course I did; I always had, I always would.
Finally, we broke through the tree line, and I gaped, mouth hanging open. Jared grinned at me. Any of that worry I had seen earlier was tucked deep inside of him.
“Like it?” he asked. His voice was huskier than usual. At sixteen, his voice had been cracking and deepening for almost a year. Some sort of rush went through me, but I didn’t understand what it was. I just wanted to be closer to him. I stepped close enough that our arms brushed. We were nearly the same height, and our arms aligned from our shoulders to our elbows.
What lay before us was magic: it was the rare, hidden beach on the backside of the lake. If our parents knew how we got here, they would murder us. No one would find us, though. We were utterly alone.
I pictured myself turning toward him and leaning forward, pressing my lips against his. It would’ve been a quick thing. It would’ve been a peck like Mom gives Dad before she goes out with her friends, or before he leaves for work.
And then…
Jared groaned, softly, and I thought it was directed at me. But no. A jet ski flew toward us, skipping across the water. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he muttered. I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me or the boy coming to the beach.
“Colby?” I guessed. He had stuck to Jared like glue since they met just a few months ago. Colby was the new kid, the rising basketball star, and a jerk. He leered at me in a way that made my skin crawl. He said crude things to me, but then he would smile and say, It’s okay, Charlie, I was just messing with you.
“Yeah,” Jared muttered. The muscle in his jaw tensed for a moment. “How did he find us?”
Colby, always showing off, killed the jet ski engine at the last minute and skidded onto the sand. He leapt off before it was fully stopped. “You made it!” he yelled at Jared. “About time. The others should be here soon.” He pointed at a kayak in the distance, in the middle of the lake, flanked by at least three more.
Jared grabbed my hand and finally met my eyes. I had always admired the brilliant sapphire of his eyes and how they said so much and nothing at the same time. “Don’t…” He stopped and shook his head. “Please don’t let him touch you, okay?”
Of course not, I wanted to say. The metallic taste of fear was spreading through my mouth, and it sealed my lips closed. This was not how I pictured our last adventure before starting back at school. I had pictured something quiet, somewhere secluded and alone and ours. We were on the precipice of a big, unknown change.
The three girls and one boy in the kayaks arrived within minutes, and Jared and Colby lifted two mini coolers from the kayaks. I sat and watched the action unfold: how one of the girls, Leah, kept touching Jared’s arm and laughing at every word that passed his lips.
I knew Jared: he wasn’t that funny. Colby encouraged their interactions, and it made me hate him even more for shining a light on Jared’s attraction to Leah. Already, Jared was standing straighter and smiling easier. He was bolstered by the laughter of people we wouldn’t remember in ten years. It didn’t make sense.
Part of me wished Jared would realize I wasn’t quite there; I was mostl
y camouflaged by the tree line, half there and half not.
The sun flickered over the water, and the trees swayed in the breeze. I was getting tenser by the minute. I wished for a book or a phone, neither of which I had thought to bring. I had Jared. I was safe. And yet—my Jared was quickly vanishing, replaced with a colder, social version.
Older kids arrived on a pontoon boat. They got as close as they could and splashed their way to shore with beer bottles in their hands. I recognized one of the new five.
I glanced over, toward Jared, and caught Colby’s eye. He saw me. He smirked, silently lifting a beer bottle in my direction. It was either an invitation to come closer or a cheers—I couldn’t decipher it. I could never read him. Uneasy, I shouldered my pack. It was time for me to go.
In the water, Jared was making out with Leah. My heart seized, and I turned and fled.
Part I
He seemed like an angel
Gracing me with his presence.
1
June
He flies through the door like a blizzard, bringing in a fresh crispness that I had yet to experience in a New York summer. It makes me straighten in my seat. He says something to the cashier, and she beams at him. All I see are his lips, his smile, his golden hair that curls at his collar. I need to knock off this type of thinking immediately, but something about him captivates me.
Stop staring, I order myself. I look back at my book and force myself to swallow a paragraph of words, but then I look back up toward the cashier. He’s gone. I’m surprised when it hollows me out for a second.
I feel a presence over my shoulder, and I slam the book against my chest—both in an effort to preserve my cleavage from prying eyes and in surprise. I look up at him. Of course it’s him. He’s even more beautiful up close. It has been too long since I kissed a boy, and here I am, thinking about kissing this stranger.
“Do you mind if I sit with you?”
His words are faint over the music in my ears. I nod, and then shake my head. What did he ask? I don’t think I have ever seen eyes quite like his: a unique blend of brown and gold. We watch each other for a beat, and I realize I gave him two opposing answers. A hot blush seeps up my neck, staining my cheeks red, and I use my foot to slowly push the chair across from me away from the table. He looks from me to it, then takes a seat. I drop my eyes back to my book and contemplate turning off my music.
“My name is Avery,” he says, extending his hand at me. I shake it and think, Wow. It’s so proper of him to do it like that. When’s the last time a guy introduced himself any other way besides grunting his name in my ear over the loud music at a bar? I couldn’t say.
I pull out my earbuds and wrap the cord around my iPod. The café noises swarm in my ears like bees.
This time, I focus on his nose instead of his eyes. It’s safer territory.
“Charlotte,” I say. Everyone knows me as Charlie—even my professors call me Charlie. A part of me must want to come across cooler—or more mature—than I feel. I wear a loose pair of shorts and an old Relient K t-shirt that has some holes in the sleeve. It has a single flower on the front from one of their older albums.
I find myself picturing his face on the latest Calvin Klein advertisements that have been plastered over all the subway platforms for weeks. It’s always the eyes that draw you in, but the body sells the product. Two seconds with him and you’re already undressing him? Nice, Charlie.
“Well, Charlotte, thank you for letting me join you. I didn’t expect it to be so crowded.” Like we’re in sync, we glance around the tight cafe. He pulls a thick book from the briefcase resting against his chair and smiles at me.
“No problem.”
We sit in silence for at least twenty minutes. It’s long enough for me to notice the way he sucks his lower lip into his mouth right before he turns the page of his book; I start fantasizing about tasting his lips for myself. I’m doing that thing where I try to pretend I’m not staring at him, but I am. If I’m being honest, I’m not great at it. A table across the room opens up, and I see that he notices it, too. But he still doesn’t move. I don’t know whether to be happy or worried with this new information. I suppress a shiver. What if he’s a creepy serial killer? Ted Bundy was charismatic, too...
“What are you reading?”
I flash the cover of the latest spy novel, and he nods. He looks impressed… or maybe surprised. “It’s because I would do anything to escape my reality of my summer job,” I say. Why would you say that? I ask myself. I imagine my mother hooking her arm around my waist and pinching me, telling me to control myself.
Inhale, exhale.
He’s just a boy. My imagination is running wild picturing him as Ted Bundy’s cousin.
He smiles at me, and I want to look at the dimple in his cheek forever. “That’s quite interesting. I’m reading a book my sister recommended, since you asked. It’s about a girl and a boy, and they’re in love but they don’t know it.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You don’t strike me as the romantic type.”
He sighs, leaning forward. I wonder what type of man he will turn out to be—he could hardly be older than I am.
“Charlotte, if you learn anything about me today, know this: I am definitely the romantic type.” He flashes me a smirk that makes me run hot and cold inside.
I can’t stop the shy smile that creeps across my face. My heart is swooning. My brain is having a meltdown.
“And you? Are you romantic?”
“No,” I say. My heart may be swooning, but my brain is still in charge of my voice. “I have historically not gone out on Valentine’s Day. I’m terrible at remembering birthdays and anniversaries. And declarations of love aren’t really my thing.”
“That’s quite sad. Dinners lit only by candles and the moon? Spontaneous trips to Paris? A surprise picnic in a field of flowers?” His grin is lopsided. In that moment, I have no doubt he would try—or maybe already had tried—to do all of those.
“Truth?” I cock my head to the side. What did this boy see when he looks at me? Dumb, murky blue eyes and dirty blonde hair and a figure that has a few extra pounds strapped across the middle? Did he see that I was drowning in boredom? I was itching for something to happen to me—something straight out of my spy novel.
He nodded.
“Dinners by candlelight and the moon seem like a headache in the making. Squinting to see what the menu says or what you’re eating? No, thank you. And who can afford a spontaneous trip to Paris? What kind of job must you have? A picnic… does sound nice. Except for the whole field-of-wildflowers thing. They tend to have a surplus of bees.” My eye twitches, because clearly I want to show the insane side of me today.
He throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, wow. You really are anti-romance, aren’t you?”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. He seems rapt, suddenly, with something over my left shoulder. I glance back, see a few people standing in line, and turn back to him. His eyes shoot up to meet mine. “Were you looking at my boobs?” I ask.
The question is ridiculous, but I couldn’t stop it from coming out of my mouth.
His ears turn red.
“Oh, wow,” I laugh. “It’s okay if you were,” I offer, because now he can’t look at me at all.
He rubs at the back of his neck. “I just—”
“They’re there.” I glance down. “It’s a revealing shirt. It’s hot out.”
He chuckles. “You sure do know how to make a guy feel better.”
“Stare away,” I say. I start to blush. “But, actually, maybe…”
“I’ll only do it when you aren’t looking.” He winks at me.
I nod, because I can accept that. Plus, his wink made something flutter in my stomach.
“So,” Avery says. “The anti-romantic. Tell me more.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s a boring story. You know what I do like?”
His raises an eyebrow. I’m immediately jealous, because I can onl
y raise both or neither.
I tell him, “Adventures.”
“You like adventures,” he repeats. There are wheels turning in his head. What will he do with the information?
He holds out his hand as he rises from the table.
I look at it, dubious.
“Well, come on, Charlotte. Let’s have an adventure.”
I smile.
Inhale, exhale.
Take his hand for the second time.
This time, I don’t let go.
Avery leads me down street after street, and I can’t fathom where we’re going. He won’t tell me, either.
“You could be kidnapping me,” I protest.
“I’m not,” he says. He grins at me and lets go of my hand. “You’re free to go, miss.”
