by Avery Abbott
BOYSCOUT-Final
Avery Abbott
Copyright © 2019 by Avery Abbott
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.
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To all you crazy women and men who love bad boys!
Contents
Prologue
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
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
Acknowledements
Contents
Prologue
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
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
Acknowledements
Prologue
SHAW
My mother gave birth to me at 8:39 AM on Christmas morning. Alone. No one beside her to hold her hand, no one to do that fake breathing maneuver or to tell her to when to push, except a nurse she’d never met before. Her own parents abandoned her at eighteen when she up and left home from Dayton, Ohio, for the infamous Los Angeles to become a model, an actress or both. They wiped their hands clean the moment she jumped on that bus with a duffel bag and a few thousand dollars she had managed to save from working since the age of thirteen. I’d never met them. Hell, they didn’t even know I existed.
Mom liked to think of herself as somewhat of a Gypsy, one who wandered around until they found their place in the world. She told me she found it once, but the moment she felt safe and content to stay put, my father, whom I’d never met, went and hurt her bad. Not physically, but he managed to wreck her emotionally. At least, that’s why she told me she refused to date, and how women were strong enough to go it alone without a man to lean on. I tried to follow her daily mantra to be wary of all men, but part of me (I let you figure which part out) was too eager to unriddle the male species myself.
Anyway, even though mentioning my dad, the sperm donor (my words, not hers) was taboo in my house for some God-forsaken reason—unless she’d have one too many Chardonnays—I got the simple background here and there of what happened. She chose to name me after a motorcycle that she claimed to have loved from her past. A motorcycle that brought her freedom and love. That freedom was her “wind in the hair” whenever he took her out for a ride, which she said was often. The love part was still a little fuzzy, but I was here and alive, so there was that.
She met him on the beach one afternoon while she was down there on some yoga trip with a couple of friends. She must’ve fallen madly in love with the six-foot hunk of a guy who literally swept her off her feet, seeing as how she only returned to L.A. to gather her belongings before moving in with him a week later. He also rode a thousand-pound bike between his legs, a Harley Davidson Heritage, hence my name Harley Shaw Hayes, but I went by Shaw.
I still do. I have ever since we moved from Portland to Phoenix when I turned nine. I figured since she told me we were starting over, I could invent a new me, like Hannah Montana did every week on her show. A new me that wasn’t teased daily for her weird name, so I went with my middle name, which she chose after her best friend back in Ohio. I liked it. It suited me way better than Harley. Harley to me was a bad girl name, a girl who liked to gin up trouble and walk a little on the wild side.
Shaw? Shaw was a simple and happy-go-lucky name like my mother, without a care in the world. She taught me well. At least she had, until I scratched out one of her “rules to live by.” There were several and I tried my darnedest to follow them all, but at seventeen I gave in to a pair of doggy brown sappy eyes when he told me he loved me. Yep, I’d heard the tale several times (mostly from mom) about the old “I love you” speech where they magically moved on to greener pastures after a girl gave up the whole cow to them. And, yep, I’d fallen for his line like a trout taking to a worm. And I never could figure out which bothered me more, his lie or her truth.
I liked Phoenix; it was warm and sunny all the time, unlike the cloudy skies and rain in Portland. We barely took much with us when we moved since Mom always said, “Travel light and always keep your bags packed. You never know when you’ll need to bail, Shaw.” That was rule #1.
She was a free spirit and I was nothing like her whatsoever. I used to beg her to tell me more about my father, but she would just smile and tell me he was the past, not our future, and I shouldn’t go looking for trouble, especially when it wasn’t looking for me.
I had a million questions, but she never answered one outright, she always managed to circumvent the conversation and turn it around to something completely superfluous. It would go something as simple as, “Why do you have blonde hair and I have brown?” She’d smile and say, “That’s the way God made you.” And, if I tried to press if my father had dark hair, she’d spin me around and braid my long hair, shushing me and telling me some story about her travels or of a failed audition before I’d come along and graced her life.
Needless to say, I was a curious teen, which led me to rummaging around the apartment one Saturday morning while she was off to her six AM yoga session. She taught yoga and Pilates downtown for most of the day, but only had two classes that morning before she would return, so time was ticking.
I had almost missed it. A shoebox stuffed way in the back of her closet covered with scarves and handbags. A box full of answers—at least, that’s what I had hoped I’d stumbled upon. Only, the contents just gave me more questions than answers. A sun-faded picture of two people on a motorcycle, clearly her and hopefully him, even though he was hard to make out since the sun had left its mark.
A ring, not
a diamond, but silver forged around beautiful turquoise. The box also contained a yellow bandana, a pair of cheap sunglasses, a brochure about a Sturgis Motorcycle Rally and another faint picture of someone I could only assume was him: the sperm donor and her. Although faded, I could tell he was handsome in a way that even blew me away. My mother was always beautiful in my eyes, but him, he was something else. Where she was blonde, petite and lean like a ballerina, he was all brawny muscles, tall and bulky, stalwart sitting on his bike, my mother tucked behind him without a care in the world. I couldn’t help but laugh outright looking at it. At her. She was in a pair of Daisy Duke’s, a white tank top that stopped at her belly button, and a black leather studded belt with matching boots. I took all of it in and even snapped a photo with my cell for evidence before putting it all back in hiding, exactly where she had kept it. I was thirteen when I discovered it all. Thirteen when I caught my first glimpse of my father.
I’d never seen her like that, not ever, so it surprised me to see her in a different light, but she looked happy. So, damned happy, which left me puzzled as to why she’d left him, especially with the knowledge of being pregnant with me. It made sense to her at the time, I guess, which sucked for me growing up without a daddy, but we’d been happy without him. She made sure of it. I’d made do with what I had, and the Lord knew she’d loved me hard enough to make up for being a single mom, but there was always half of me missing.
I couldn’t make out his eye color, but I could see we shared the same shade of hair even though his was hidden underneath one of those bandanas. I was sure, since my eyes were green, he’d most likely figure out who I was with one little look. At least, I had hoped he’d know his own flesh and blood. I knew it wasn’t going to be all smooth sailing if I ever met him, but a girl could pray it would be so if I ever needed to find him.
That was six years ago.
Chapter 1
SHAW
As cliché as it sounded, my entire life had changed in the blink of an eye. Or, should I say my entire life changed due to some bastard running a red light while high as a kite. She was gone, the only person who ever truly loved me. A love that I had tried to reciprocate tenfold. I felt lost and abandoned without her. It had been eight days since that horrible moment that would be forever engrained in my memory.
Eight days of absolute hell.
It was a typical Monday, just like every other, except I’d just come home from teaching Mom’s early morning yoga class since she had not been feeling well when she’d woken up. After the session, I had a text telling me to come home since she had felt better, and she’d be taking over her ten-thirty class. I ran some errands, got a latte and a much-needed pedicure before heading home just before two in the afternoon. Around three, fresh out of the shower, there was a knock at the door and a policeman standing outside with a solemn look on his face. A policeman I knew well. He was my best friend Tommy’s older brother, Bobby.
“Shaw, honey, can I come in?”
“Sure,” I answered, tying my robe tighter, warily wondering what had happened to Tommy, so I wasn’t expecting what came next.
“Shaw, your mother was in a bad car accident this morning. I’m so sorry, but she didn’t make it, honey.” I know he said a ton more, but I tuned him out the moment he said, “your mother” and “accident.” It wasn’t until Tommy showed up moments later, yanking me into his arms, that I remember thinking or feeling anything. It was like one of my nightmares slapping me in the face, reminding me that even in the daytime, they can wreck your world.
She was sharing a ride with her girlfriend, Mindy, to save on gas, when they were blindsided by someone so wired on coke it was shocking he was even able to get behind a wheel. Four people died that day. Mindy was a newlywed and pregnant with her first child, a baby girl. Even with my loss, I thought about that baby, and Billy, who would never get to hold his little girl in his arms. I spent almost as much time crying over his loss than my own.
I wasn’t expecting another blow to my life and knocking my ass down six days later. Only at that moment, I wasn’t so sure I cared anymore. I had nothing. Maybe it was my Mom’s way of calling me home to be with her, since we had never been apart from one another. My mom had hated my boyfriend, Garrett, from the get-go and warned me how she didn’t trust him with me, or my naïve heart.
Garrett (my slightly older asshole boyfriend) had lent me the money for the cremation, which turned into him expecting me to repay him on the same day I said my final goodbye to her. It was a small ceremony in her favorite chapel, with some of her students and friends. I didn’t have the heart to spread any ashes; I wanted to take her with me on my journey. She would expect nothing less.
Tommy had sold as much as possible at the pawnshop in town for me to cover my ass the day before to get out of town. He hated the thought and pleaded with me not to leave, and he almost convinced me, but there was no way I could stay there without her.
Too many ghosts, and it turned out, way too much Garrett for my liking.
I was going to miss Phoenix, and once upon a time I never thought I’d leave here, but this last fight with Garrett was brutal enough to send me packing. It cost me a night in the emergency room when I didn’t pay him the full total of what I’d owed. He was willing to get paid in a non-currency form for the other half, but I’d held out this long with him, and there was no way in hell I was tarnishing my mom’s rule twice on a bastard like Garrett. He didn’t take kindly to my saying no…AGAIN.
He banged me up pretty good this time. Usually he was careful not to leave any marks my mom or Tommy would see. My right eye was swollen, black and blue and sealed shut. My lip was fat and busted, and I had a few bumps on my skull to prove how it all went down. Although when the police asked me if I’d like to press charges, I didn’t. The words he’d screamed as his fist knocked me back against the wall kept me from telling the police what had happened to me that night.
“You owe me another thousand dollars, Shaw.”
“That’s all I could get, Garrett.” It was a lie. Tommy had gotten me a solid three grand for all our stuff, minus my Mom’s car and her favorite Fleetwood Mac album, but made me promise to keep some for my journey. I was keeping those two things and all her awesome concert shirts she had collected over the years.
The cremation was just over two thousand dollars; I’d given him half with a promise to pay back the rest as soon as I could.
His pupils were dilated from being on whatever he took that night. It was rare for him to partake in drugs, but every once in a while, he’d get high on something and then come find me. I tried to break up with him once the month prior, but I loved my arm and he was twisting it to the point it would break, so I relented. This time, this time was different. I could see the evil. I could see he came looking for a fight and I was the person in the cage he was ready to battle. “Bend over,” he’d ordered.
If I weren’t so scared, I would’ve laughed. “Not on your life.”
His eyes widened and grew hair-raisingly frightening. “I said bend over, Shaw. I won’t say it again.”
I stepped back. He stepped forward, closing me in and up against the wall of my bedroom. “Why are you doing this? You said you loved me. This isn’t love, Garrett.”
His hands came down, pinning both sides of my head against the yellow wall of my room. “Love you?” His one arm went slack until I felt it running up my thigh, all the way until his fingers were fumbling with my button on my shorts. “You know what I love, Shaw? I love the fact you have a body made for sin. I love the fact you have hair that is so fucking amazing all I think about is pulling it while I fuck you. I love the fact you have the most crazy fucking green eyes I’ve ever seen, they have the power to bring a man to his knees. I love the fact that you don’t even realize what a hot piece you are. Do you know how many guys I know who would pay to fuck you? And clue in, Babe: I want in there.” His hand found his way into my shorts, yanking them down a teeny bit, his fingers forcefully pushing m
y panties down with them.
“No,” I cried, but showed no tears for him. He wasn’t worth them.
Rule number two: My mother always said, “Don’t give in to tears. Be strong, Shaw. Never let a man see you cry over them. It gives them power.”
“Yes,” he gritted out, tearing them down even further. His finger grazed my very tensed vajayjay. “Relax, Shaw. I promise you’ll love it. I know I will. Fight it or come willingly. Either way, I’ll enjoy every second.”
We’d fought before, raised our voices, a slap on the face or a shove into the wall and then he’d apologize and I’d idiotically accept. This time it was different. He was so high and his words hit me like a ton of bricks. He never loved me. My mother and Tommy were both right about him being a sleaze ball. He was a piece of shit and the one night I needed to be loved and held, he had gone and done the opposite. He yanked on my hair with his free hand, his other fiddling with my shorts and undies and flailing legs. He shot me an evil smirk before he had wrapped my hair around his fist, tossing me onto the floor in his attempt to rip off my clothes. I wasn’t having it anymore. It was fight or flight, but I was doing both. I kicked hard and screamed even louder than I ever thought I could. His hand flew to my mouth, smothering my voice. His heavy body covered mine and I feared I had bit off more than I could chew, as I struggled to gain any ground. Despite me thrashing and kicking, his strong legs held mine down. His hand snared my hands over my head, while the other covered my screams.
