by Rayne, Piper
My Twist of Fortune
Piper Rayne
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2021 by Piper Rayne
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover Design: By Hang Le
1st Line Editor: Joy Editing
2nd Line Editor: My Brother’s Editor
Proofreader: Shawna Gavas, Behind The Writer
My Twist of Fortune
Two aching hearts. A meddling small town. A second chance.
It’s not a new story. Wife finds out husband’s been cheating on her and she packs up her four kids and heads back to her hometown, Sunrise Bay, Alaska.
Yeah, not a fresh start, but thousands of miles away from my ex will do just fine.
I’m prepared for the cold weather, the early snowfalls, and dark days and nights. What I’m not prepared for is coming face to face with my ex’s cousin and for the same feelings from twenty years ago to ignite like the flame never went out.
It doesn’t take long before people are whispering about the widowed Hank Greene and me. But we both have children to think of this time around. Then again, Hank knows what it’s like to be a single parent and sometimes those damn dimples of his make it hard to remember why we can’t be together.
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Piper Rayne
I lay back on the warm sand with the sun beating down on my body. “More of that,” I mumble as his dark stubbled cheek runs across my flat belly and he nestles between my legs. “I think I love you.”
With a devilish smirk, he pushes my skimpy bikini bottom to the side and his sparkling blue gaze coasts up my body to meet mine. Oh, he’s a bad boy all right. One swipe of his tongue and I writhe under him, my thighs opening wider. My hands fall to my sides, searching for something to clamp on to, but only sand slips through my fingers.
This man knows his way around a woman’s body. I wish my ex-husband could see me now. See this gorgeous hunk of a man willingly pleasing me without the disclaimer of “I’ll do you if you do me.” He hooks his fingers into the sides of my bikini bottoms, staring up at me with half-lidded eyes as he lowers them down my legs and flings them behind him.
“Now where was I?” His shoulders nudge my thighs farther open.
I sigh, falling back down while the warm sun soaks my skin and the sand cocoons my body. This man is an expert. He should start a YouTube channel on how to give oral sex on a beach to a woman you don’t know. He flicks his tongue and all thoughts of YouTube leave my brain because this man deserves to have every one of my nerve endings’ attention. My back arches, my thighs quake, my moans deafening to my own ears.
“That’s it. I’m right there. Keep going.”
He presses his arm over my taut stomach. I clench to prolong the impending orgasm, but the urge to let go intensifies with every swipe of his tongue. He pushes a finger into me, quickly adding another one. I free-fall as if I’m in one of those extreme swing rides, but my harness doesn’t jolt me back when the bungee cord stretches to its full capability. Instead, I fly out and soar through the sunny sky.
“Mommy?”
“Mom!”
“Is she sick?”
“She’s groaning like she’s gonna throw up.”
“She’s not groaning, she’s… oh God, I’m out.”
A nudge on my side jolts me, and as if a witch cast a spell, the man disappears, then the beach. The ocean is the last to fade away as I open my eyes and blink to find three pairs of curious eyes hovering over me.
I look at the ancient alarm clock with flip numbers. You know, like in the movie Groundhog Day? It’s programmed to my dad’s favorite seventies radio station so “Something’s Comin’ Up” by Barry Manilow sounds throughout the room as I blindly fumble to find the small button that makes it stop.
I slowly rise from the bed, peeking at three of my four children. My fourteen-year-old Nikki has one arm of a shirt while my twelve-year-old Mandi has the other. The middle is so stretched out, it’s a wonder the fabric hasn’t ripped in half.
“Tell her she can’t keep borrowing my clothes!” Nikki screeches, yanking on the fabric.
“Are you okay, Mom?” My sweet little eight-year-old, Posey, climbs over the edge of the bed and cuddles up next to me. She’s my worrier and my spiritual leader, as she’s decided it’s her mission to find remedies to cheer me up every day.
“I’m leaving!” Jed screams from downstairs.
Nikki huffs and glares at Mandi, yanking again. “I gotta go. Give me the shirt.”
I sigh and look at Posey, whose head is on my shoulder and staring up at me with her sweet smile. She runs her small hand down my arm until our hands are joined, then she squeezes because she’s worried. I could kill my ex-husband, Jeff, for this. Our once-carefree seven-year-old now feels as though she has to take care of me because he decided to implode our family unit.
“Go get ready, Posey. We have to leave soon.” I kiss the top of her head.
She’s reluctant to let me go, but when her sisters’ screams become louder and I sigh, she sees it’s her best option. This room is about to shake from the volume of my yelling.
I close my eyes and swing the covers off the bed, sliding my legs over the edge to get up.
“Mom!” Nikki points.
I look down to find a giant stain on my sweatshirt from the mint chocolate chip ice cream I spilled all over myself last night while I ate it out of the carton. I stand and head into the bathroom. “Leave me alone. You two have plenty of clothes. Find something.”
“No! Mom, it’s mine. Tell Mandi to let go.”
Jed honks the horn of the truck from the driveway. The truck that Jeff just had to buy Jed because why not buy your seventeen-year-old son’s happiness with a truck instead of actually, oh, I don’t know… keeping your dick out of other women’s vaginas.
“Mandi, give Nikki the shirt so she can go to school. You can find something else.”
“Seriously?” Mandi’s shoulders sink as though I told her she has a giant zit on the tip of her nose and there’s a boy at the door.
I shut the bathroom door. With my hands on the sink, my chin falls to my chest and I inhale and exhale a deep breath to find some serenity and calm. Maybe I should download one of those meditation apps or try yoga or something. All the other moms raved about it back in Arizona.
Turning on the shower, I grab the hem of my sweatshirt to strip it off, but I catch my reflection in the mirror. Oh my God. What happened to me? I’m wearing an oversized pair of flannel pants and my dad’s overly large “Just the Tip” sweatshirt with a bullet and American flag on it.
“Today is a new day,” I murmur.
Wheels squeal outside as Jed punches the gas pedal. I picture the back of the truck fishtailing. I’m the mother of a hoodlum. Tears prick my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.
I strip off my sweatshirt and my pants and step into the avocado-colored porcelain tub with the valance of fabric, complete with ties and tassels. My mom does n
othing that doesn’t involve tassels. A rush of cold water shoots down on my back.
“SHIT!” I scream and bolt out of the bathtub, one lonely tassel tie falling to the floor.
I dry myself off before putting my sweatshirt and pants back on for warmth then head downstairs to the kitchen, finding Mandi and Posey. Posey is dressed, backpack zipped up and a Pop-Tart and glass of milk in front of her on the table. Jesus. One day she’ll be in a therapist’s office, saying it all started when she was seven and her parents divorced.
“Mandi, was the water hot this morning?”
“Lukewarm.” She bites a piece of toast.
“Were you the last one in?” I ask.
She eats her toast, staring at her phone. Another one of Jeff’s gifts. “First.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Did Jed or Nikki say anything?”
She shrugs and sips her juice.
I turn on the lights at the top of the basement stairs before rushing down. At the bottom step, the sight of water on the cement floor alarms me.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I tiptoe through the water and find the source—the water heater. Since it’s only been two retired people living in this house for the past twenty-plus years, I’m sure it’s in shock from my teenage boy, who takes three showers a day.
After running back up the stairs, I grab the home phone and dial my mom in Florida. I’d love to volunteer to pay for this since they’re letting my kids and me stay in their home rent-free while they travel in their RV. Although they’ve offered to let us stay when they return in two months, if I want to preserve what little sanity I have left, I need to find a place of my own. Which means I need to save all the money I can.
“Hey, honey, shouldn’t you be on your way to school?”
“Good morning, Mom.” I ignore her question. “I think the hot water heater is done.”
“Hold on.” She must only move the phone a millimeter away from her mouth before she screams, “Frank!”
Posey slides off the stool and points at the clock, eyeing me to make sure I see it.
I cover the receiver. “Go wait in the car.”
They actually listen, and I tap my fingers on the counter, waiting for my dad.
“I’ll call Hank Greene,” my mom suggests.
“No, don’t do that.”
Just the thought of my ex-husband’s cousin coming here and seeing me makes me want to dig a hole for myself. My gaze scatters across the messy house. The carton of ice cream I finished off last night sits by the trash can. The takeout pizza boxes are precariously balanced on the counter. Jed’s socks and sweatshirts litter every surface, and cups clutter the end tables. I’ve lost all control of my children.
I hear the phone exchange hands. “What’s up, buttercup?”
“Hey, Dad, I told Mom I’m guessing the water heater is done. There’s water in the basement and all I got was cold water this morning.”
“Yeah, that thing has been on its last legs.”
I wave my hand to get this conversation going even though he can’t see me. “So who do I call? Who do you use?”
“I’m calling Hank right now,” Mom yells in the background.
“Dad! Tell her no.”
But I hear Mom on Dad’s speakerphone. The line is ringing.
“Hank’s a good guy,” Dad says. “He does all the work for us ever since his dad retired. He’s the “it guy” in Sunrise Bay now.”
I stop myself from saying he was the “it guy” when I was in high school too. Another reason I do not want him to bear witness to what has happened to me.
“Hey, Hank!” Mom singsongs, then her voice fades away. I strain to hear anything, but she must have left the RV with the cell phone.
“Don’t you think it’s a little awkward to have Jeff’s cousin come and fix the water heater?”
Dad doesn’t say anything for a moment. “True. Point made. Okay, well, we’ll have to call someone from another town. Helen!” he yells.
I move the phone away from my ear.
Posey comes back in the door, her eyes pleading. “I can’t be late again, Mom. Please.”
She’s right.
“Hey, Dad, I have to take the girls to school. I’ll call you when I get back and we can figure it out. Give me about a half hour.”
“Sure thing, buttercup.”
I stuff my phone into my purse and run out the front door to my minivan. “Sorry, girls.”
My tires squeal and slide as I punch the gas with the hopes my kids don’t get another tardy on their record.
Little did I know my day was about to get worse.
Posey already has the door open before I have a chance to fully stop the van in the elementary school drop-off.
“Pos!” I slam on my brakes and Mandi and I fall forward.
“Seriously?” Mandi says.
I roll my eyes, but it’s the tapping of something on the hood of my van that causes me to look up.
“You’ve got to be shittin’ me,” I mumble, but from Mandi’s huff, she heard me.
“Oh my God! Is that really you?” The blonde woman acting as traffic director beelines it from the front of the van over to my window.
“I’m going. Love you, Mom!” Posey says.
I look back to say goodbye, but the van door shuts. I watch as Posey’s backpack swings right and left as she runs to the doors of the school. I move to put the van into drive, but a pearly white smile plastered to my window reminds me of the hell I’m in right now.
I press the button to lower the window.
“Mom!” Mandi screeches. “I can’t be late.”
Her reason for not wanting to be late isn’t the same as her younger sister’s, but I get it. I was a tween once too. She doesn’t want all eyes on her when she walks in after the bell.
“It’ll only be a minute.”
She throws herself back in her seat and lets out a long annoyed sigh. “Whatever.”
“I heard you were back in town, but Bill and I took a vacation together in celebration of the kids starting school, so I haven’t bumped into you.” Donna Demonte in the flesh. The girl who should’ve been voted biggest flirt senior year.
I force a smile.
Her hand reaches in and she pets my shoulder like I’m a cat. “I heard about what happened with Jeff. I’m sorry.”
I nod and glance at Mandi, who’s lost in her phone—or pretending to be at least. “Thanks. We’re good though. Happy to be back.”
She laughs. “Sunrise Bay has always been your home. I think I speak for the town when I say how happy we are to have you all here. I hear there’s a football player in the family. He’s going to have a challenge on his hands.”
I nod before my mind actually processes what she’s saying. “What?”
“Jeff was always sharing all those videos of your oldest on social media. He’s a quarterback, right?”
“Um… yeah.”
Jeff did always post things about Jed. But that’s Jeff. He’s a bragger and into one-upmanship.
“Do you know Hank’s son, Cade Greene?”
She pronounces Greene as if I’m not aware of the other half of the Greene family in this town. As if Hank and I weren’t in the same grade. As if we never… I shake my head from going down that particular memory lane. Then it all clicks—I forgot that Donna was Hank Greene’s high school girlfriend until our senior year.
“He plays quarterback,” Donna adds.
“Well, if Jed wants to play, he’ll have to hope they have a position for him to fill.”
She laughs. “And Jeff would be okay with that?”
“Mom!” Mandi whines.
“I really need to go, Donna. We’ll have to catch up another time.” I shift the van into drive.
“Definitely. Maybe we can go shopping or something.” Her eyes zero in on my sweatshirt.
I finger-comb my hair as though she won’t notice me doing it. “Sure.” I ease off the brake. “Bye, Donna.”
I drive
off without waiting for her to say goodbye.
“She’s a bitch,” Mandi says.
“Mandi!” I scold—but how can I reprimand her when I’m thinking the same thing? The woman had it out for me in high school and I know for a fact she couldn’t be happier that my marriage fell apart.
“Come on, Mom, talking about Jed and Dad?”
We drive out to Main Street and into the middle school parking lot, since the schools are minutes away from one another. The lack of cars in the drop-off lane says Mandi’s going to be late. Her hand is already on the handle of the door before we come to a complete stop. Must be genetics.
“I’m sorry, Mandi. Last tardy, I promise.”
Surprisingly, she nods and nothing smart comes out of her mouth. When the door shuts, I close my eyes and relish the silence. Until a honk behind me startles me and I put the van in gear, driving back to my parents’ house.
The thought of Hank Greene makes my stomach flip. Although he and Jeff are cousins, they might as well have been strangers. After Jeff’s side of the family moved to Arizona with us, there were no more shared holidays or occasions for all of us to get together. Jeff’s dad never had a close relationship with Hank’s dad. When Hank’s father died, we discussed moving our side of the family back up to Sunrise Bay, but it never happened. Jeff paid for my parents to visit us so we wouldn’t have to come up here, which suited them fine since it was a mini vacation of sorts with a big house, pool, and warm weather.
I’ve always felt as though there was unfinished business between Hank and me, although we never truly dated. After his wife, Laurie, died tragically—only a year after his dad—I wanted to reach out on the phone, but I was a chickenshit and resorted to a plant and a sympathy card from our family. For months, my mom told me how sad the town was. How everyone was on the meal exchange for the Greenes and she had arranged a babysitting routine so Hank could work.
