What Comes After

by Toppen, Melissa

  A NOVEL BY

  Copyright © 2019 by Melissa Toppen

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This book is intended for 18+ older, and for mature audiences only.

  Editing by Amy Gamache @ Rose David Editing

  Cover Design by Melissa Gill Designs

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Abel

  “Abel.” Her voice is so clear, like an angel calling to me from the darkness. “Abel.” I follow the sweet sound. “Abel.”

  My eyes shoot open and I blink rapidly, taking in the blackness of the room, my chest rising and falling in quick succession.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fall back into the dream. It’s one I’ve had hundreds of times before. I’m standing in a hallway. Everything is white. The floors, the walls, the ceiling. There’s white everywhere I look. And then she calls to me. I chase the voice, desperate to find her, but I always wake up before I can. It never changes. Over and over I search for her in my dreams.

  “You okay?” Moments later, a hand slides across my stomach.

  I flinch at the contact.

  “Fine,” I grumble, quickly rolling out of bed.

  I don’t know how I fell asleep here. I’m usually up and out within minutes of finding my release, but tonight, too little sleep and too much whiskey seems to have gotten the better of me.

  “Where are you going?” Melanie whines. Or maybe it’s Michelle. Fuck, I can’t even remember her name.

  “Home,” I say flatly, fumbling around the dark room in search of my clothes.

  “You don’t have to leave.” She shifts in the bed, light flooding the room seconds later.

  I squint at the brightness, snagging my jeans off the floor before stepping into them.

  “Come back to bed,” she coos. I look at her just long enough to see her propped up on her elbows, her breasts spilling out over the top of the blanket.

  She’s an attractive enough woman. Long red hair, blue eyes, a body that would make even the most committed of men take notice. But she’s not the person I want to see. That person is gone, and she took my heart and a piece of my soul with her when she left.

  “I can’t.” I slip on my shirt and grab my shoes off the floor.

  “Can I see you again?” I feel her eyes follow me toward the door.

  “I told you earlier. I’m moving back to Chicago in two days.” The thought alone has my insides turning in on themselves. It’s time, I know that. California is beautiful and has offered me an escape when I needed it the most, but it’s not my home.

  While I’m ready, a part of me knows how hard being back there is going to be. It’s been three years, yet those three years have done nothing to lessen the tremendous amount of loss I feel. I’m starting to wonder if the pain will ever go away.

  But I’ve gotten good at hiding it. At burying it down deep and pretending like everything is okay. Only it isn’t okay. I don’t think it ever will be again.

  “But that’s in two days. What are you doing later today? Do you want to meet up for dinner or something?”

  “I can’t.” I don’t try to hide the irritation in my voice.

  It’s nothing she’s done, of course, and I feel mildly bad for being so short with her, but this is what it means to get involved with someone like me. Emotionally unavailable. Closed off. Here for only one thing. I made it clear what this was from the beginning. She’s the one who chose to bring me home. I guess you could say she brought it on herself.

  “Can I at least get your phone number?” Her voice stops me right as I’ve stepped out into the hallway.

  “Thanks for a good night,” I tell her, not answering her question.

  This feels wrong. It always feels wrong. And yet randomly hooking up with strangers is the only thing that makes me feel even remotely better. So I keep doing it, even though in the long run it usually makes me feel worse.

  I don’t wait around to hear her response. Slipping on my shoes, I make a bee line for the door, not able to get out of here fast enough.

  It isn’t until I step out into the cool night air that I feel like I can take a real breath. I cross the parking lot toward my car and quickly slip inside and shut the door, letting my head fall back against the headrest.

  Trying to ward off the wave of nausea making its way through my gut, I take a deep breath in, letting it out slowly.

  I know better than to drink so much. When I do it puts me in situations like this and I don’t like being in situations like this.

  Lifting my head, I press the ignition button and listen to my car as it rumbles to life. Checking the time, I see it’s just after five in the morning.

  Even though I feel completely sober, a part of me is tempted to shut the car back off and sleep off the remaining alcohol still flowing through my veins. And even though that’s the smarter option, I find myself popping the car into gear and slowly backing out of the parking spot.

  ——

  “You got all your stuff?” My brother Adam steps around the back of the car where I’m shoving the last of my things into the trunk.

  While it would be much quicker to fly back to Chicago, it’s easier to drive. That way I don’t have to worry about shipping all of my stuff. Plus, being in the car for two days alone will give me time to mentally prepare myself for how I’m going to feel being back in Chicago for the first time in three years.

  “Yep, this is the last of it,” I say, stepping back to close the trunk.

  “You got everything you need for the road?”

  “I think so. I packed some drinks and snacks. Anything else I can get along the way.”

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m gonna miss having your moody ass around.”

  I chuckle, my gaze going to my oldest brother. Adam and I had never been extremely close while I was growing up. Being eight years apart, Adam left for college when I was still in grade school. It’s been nice hav
ing this time with him. Don’t get me wrong, he’s no peach to live with, but I was surprised by how similar we are even though our lives are polar opposite.

  He’s a doctor and one of the most promising ones in his field. I’m a musician who spends the majority of his nights jamming out at whatever dive bar I’m able to land a gig at. He’s clean shaven and nicely dressed. I’ve got a sleeve of tattoos down one arm, sport a permanent week-old scruff, and wear whatever shit is laying around that smells relatively clean, which usually equates to a wrinkled t-shirt and jeans.

  But for all of our differences, when you take away the superficial shit, we’re more alike than I ever realized.

  “My moody ass?” I finally comment. “I hate to tell you, big brother, but you’re not one to talk.”

  “I blame that on sleep deprivation.” He chuckles.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t work so hard.”

  “The harder I work, the more lives I save.”

  “You should trademark that shit and stick it on a business card.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” He shoves my shoulder.

  “You won’t have to miss me for long. I’ll see you at Aaron’s wedding in what, three weeks?”

  “I can’t believe it took him and Sam this long to finally tie the knot. They’ve been engaged forever it feels like.”

  “Probably because they have.”

  “Good that you’re going home now. It’ll give you a couple weeks to get settled before the wedding madness begins.”

  “Yeah, and it will give everyone something to focus on other than my return.”

  “So you did strategically plan it this way.” He gives me a knowing look.

  “What can I say? You know I hate being the center of attention.”

  “You?” He blanches. “Since when?”

  “Fuck you, dude.” I laugh, crossing toward the driver’s side of the car. “I guess I should get going. I want to try to make it to Wyoming before stopping for the night.”

  “Well, good luck with that. That’s nearly half of your thirty some hour trip. You’ll be lucky if you get there by the middle of the night.”

  “I may stop earlier if I get tired.”

  “Make sure you let me know when you hit your first stop.”

  “Yes, Mom,” I tease.

  “Shut up.” He shakes his head at me as he makes his way to the sidewalk.

  “Hey, Adam.” I pull open the door and pause, my gaze sliding to a few feet in front of my car where my brother is standing. “Thanks for everything,” I say, knowing I don’t need to elaborate what everything means. I think we both know I’d be in a hell of a lot worse of a place if it weren’t for him letting me stay.

  “Keep your head up, little brother,” he tells me, an unspoken moment passing between us.

  I nod, not feeling like any more words are needed, before silently slipping into my car.

  Chapter Two

  Peyton

  “Please tell me you have my shoes.” My roommate, Henna, bursts into my room, completely unannounced. Her slender body is clad in a fluffy white robe and her long black hair is hidden underneath a towel twisted on top of her head.

  “You’ll need to be more specific,” I tell her, buttoning the last two buttons of my cream-colored blouse.

  “You know, the red strappy ones with the black heels.” She purses her lips.

  “You’re planning on wearing those to work?” I give her a questioning look. “I can’t imagine old Mrs. Jenkins would approve,” I say, referring to the uptight marketing executive she works for.

  “No, to Sam’s bachelorette party tonight. I need to buy a new dress, but I want to wear those shoes. I need to take them shopping with me on my lunch break to make sure whatever I buy matches.”

  “I’m going to go ahead and keep what I’m thinking to myself.” I bite my bottom lip to contain my smile.

  “Oh screw you, Peyton.” She sticks her tongue out at me. “Have you seen my shoes or not?”

  “I’m pretty sure they’re in the hall closet,” I tell her, pointing in that vicinity.

  “Of course they would be in the one place I haven’t looked.” She sighs dramatically.

  “You know, you wouldn’t have this problem if you kept all your shoes in the same place.”

  “Have you seen how many shoes I have?” She gives me a knowing look.

  “Good point.” I laugh.

  “Don’t forget, we’re meeting at Rain’s at six for pregame drinks.”

  “I might be a little late. I don’t get off work until five.”

  “So tell John to let you leave early.”

  “That’s not how it works. I can’t just tell my boss what to do.”

  “Oh please.” She waves her hand at me. “You have the most laid-back job in the world, with quite possibly the coolest boss ever. You can do whatever you want.”

  She’s not wrong there. I really do have the best job with the best boss, who also happens to own the company. At just thirty-three years old, he operates one of the largest video game testing firms in the country. Not that I actually get to play video games for a living. I handle the scheduling and working with the developers, but that doesn’t make it any less enjoyable.

  “Not to mention, he totally thinks you’re hot. That never hurts.”

  “He does not,” I disagree.

  “Yeah, okay.” She snorts sarcastically.

  “Speaking of work, you’re going to make me late,” I tell her, stepping into my nude pumps.

  “Fine. But your ass better be at Rain’s by six.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I tell her, garnering myself a pointed look before she spins around and quickly exits my room.

  As much as I love living with Henna, I’m starting to think I would have been better off getting my own place. At least then I would be able to get dressed for work without her barging in anytime she wants. Privacy is not something she respects. I guess you could say she doesn’t have a very good grasp on how boundaries work.

  Then again, I’d never be able to afford this apartment on my own. The rent alone would take half of my monthly pay and that doesn’t count utilities or any of the other expenses I have.

  I honestly don’t know how people afford to live on their own, especially in a city like Chicago. Even at twenty-six, with a good paying job, I don’t think I could manage. Hence why when Henna, whom I’ve known since middle school, suggested we get a place together, I jumped at the opportunity. I was dying to get out of my father’s house, not to mention living downtown is extremely convenient. Now, instead of driving forty-five minutes to the city every day, I’m less than ten minutes from the office.

  Despite Henna’s insistence that I be on time, I fire off a quick text to Sam to let her know I might be a little late tonight, before stuffing the device into my wristlet and heading for the door.

  ——

  “Hey, you got a minute.” I look up to see John leaning against the doorframe of my office.

  His button-down shirt is untucked, the top two buttons are open revealing the smallest sliver of tanned skin. He gives me an easy smile, his brown eyes locked on me as he steps further into my office before he closes the door.

  “Yeah, what’s up?” I close my laptop, watching him slide into the chair on the opposite side of the desk from where I’m sitting.

  “I wanted to see if you’d be able to join me at the upcoming video game convention in New York. There will be a lot of developers there and I could really use someone with your talents.” He swipes a hand through his messy dark blonde locks.

  “My talents?” I cock my head to the side, a small smile playing on my lips.

  “You know more about this company than some of the people who were here when I started it. Not to mention you have a way with people. Besides, I think it would be a good learning experience for you. Give you a chance to see how the other side of the business works. You’d have your own hotel room for the weekend and the company will cover all your travel
ling expenses.”

  “When is it again? My friend, Sam is getting married the first weekend in May. That would be the only thing that may conflict.”

  “It’s not until the end of June, so that won’t be a problem.”

  “Would it be just me and you?” I ask, not sure why the thought makes me a little uncomfortable.

  Don’t get me wrong, John is a good-looking guy who is very successful, and while he’s never given me a reason to feel uncomfortable around him, I’m not sure how I feel about a weekend in New York alone together. Not that I think anything would happen.

  “Diego will be going as well.” He stretches out his legs and crosses his ankles. “So, what do you say? You’d really be helping me out.”

  “Okay. Yeah, I should be able to make that work.”

  “Perfect.” He clasps his hands together. “I’ll have Bev make all the arrangements and send you the itinerary once it’s confirmed.” He pushes to a stand.

  “Hey, really quick,” I say to his back right as he turns. I wait until he’s facing me again before continuing, “Would it be okay if I head out about an hour early today? I’m supposed to be meeting the bride-to-be at six and I have a few things to take care of first.”

  “Bachelorette party?” he guesses.

  I nod, feeling mildly embarrassed by the way he smirks at me. It’s like he knows a ton of alcohol and male genitalia will likely be involved.

  “Yeah, no problem. You could use a night out.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I arch a brow at him.

  “It means you work too much.” He grins.

  “You’re my boss. You’re supposed to like that I work too much.”

  “And I do. But I also know that everyone needs to let off a little steam from time to time. Have fun tonight.” He moves closer to the door.

  “Thanks, John.”

  “And if you find yourself in any trouble and need a ride or a bail out, you have my number,” he says before pulling open the door.

  “Pretty sure it would be highly inappropriate to call my boss to bail me out of jail.”

  “Wouldn’t be anything I haven’t done myself.” He winks, disappearing into the hallway moments later.