Defy Fate
Fated Duet: Book One
Copyright © 2019 Abigail Davies.
All rights reserved.
Published: Abigail Davies 2019
www.abigaildaviesauthor.com
No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author. Except in the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a piece of fiction. Any names, characters, businesses, places or events are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events or locations is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and have not purchased it for your use only, then you should return it to your favorite book retailer and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Editing: Jennifer Roberts-Hall
Proofreading: Judy’s Proofreading
Photo Credit: © Regina Wamba
Cover Design: Pink Elephant Designs
Formatting: Pink Elephant Designs
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
Obey Fate: Book Two
Acknowledgments
Also by Abigail Davies
About the Author
To those who suffer in silence.
Know that you are never alone.
Chapter One
ARIA
The breeze trickled through the crack in the window as we drove past all the houses in the neighborhood. It was a place where I spent a lot of my time, but it wasn’t where I lived. My neighborhood was a twenty-minute drive away from this one, and definitely not as welcoming. Our apartment block was full of not-so-nice people, but it had been home for as long as I could remember.
Not much had changed in our apartment over the last seventeen years, apart from my bedroom—what had once been lilac walls with mermaid stickers was now gray, minus the stickers. There wasn’t much difference between the two colors, but it was enough to show it was no longer a little girl’s room. I’d gone through a phase when I was twelve and had wanted to paint it a deep red to match my hair, but Mom had put her foot down. Thank god for that.
“You excited?” Mom asked, her voice cutting through the pop song playing on the radio.
I blinked and turned in my seat to look at her. Her hands were gripping the steering wheel at ten and two, her short nails bare thanks to her job at the diner, and her hair was perfectly straight, not a flyaway in sight. I envied the way she could get that sleek, shiny look. My hair may have been the same deep red as hers, but it was a complete frizz ball, and nothing I ever did made it as smooth as hers.
“Yeah,” I replied, my voice small.
Our hair was the only similarity between my mom and me. We were complete opposites in every other way, but I had a feeling it was why we worked so well. Where she was the life of the party, I was awkward and antisocial. Where she hated being alone, I thrived on having no one around me.
“Senior year is upon us, hunnybun”—she raised her brow and flicked her gaze to meet mine—“and you’ll be leaving for college before I know it.”
I shuffled in my seat and stared out of the windshield as I gripped my hands in my lap. I was equal parts excited and anxious about what would happen at the end of the school year, but I didn’t want to tell Mom that. She wanted me to go off and be whatever I wanted to be, though I had no idea what that actually was. I read somewhere that you were most happiest when you loved what you did, but when I really thought about all the things I loved, not one of them could be a realistic career.
Running had been one of my saviors over the years, but I wasn’t good enough to compete. Mom had been talking about scholarships nonstop, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to apply for any of them. Running was mine—just for me. Something I did to calm my whirring thoughts. Too bad it only worked half of the time.
The silence drifted between us, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this year would be any different from last year. I’d be a senior, but that didn’t mean I’d become the popular girl or the girl people acknowledged while walking down the halls.
I pushed my shoulders back and sat up straighter as we pulled into the school parking lot. Only a couple of cars lingered, and I had a feeling it was all staff. At eight in the morning, the day before the school year was due to start, everyone was probably still asleep. Unlucky for me, Mom wanted to come with me to pick up my schedule, which meant we had to go before her shift at the diner.
The car shuddered to a stop, and I cringed as the loud engine cut out. It didn’t bother Mom one bit, though. She simply smiled at me and hooked her thumb over her shoulder as she asked, “Ready?”
I wasn’t ready. Not at all. But I nodded anyway.
I’d learned over the years that, unless you were in the mood for an epic showdown, you shouldn’t disagree with my mom. She’d go to bat for you even when you didn’t think she should, but that was one of the things I loved most about her.
We both got out of the car, and she slung her arm over my shoulders to pull me closer. Her five-feet-nine height compared to my five feet three was just another thing which set us apart.
A lump built in my throat as we walked through the lot, the gravel crunching underneath Mom’s Converse and my ballet flats. The ten steps to the light-blue double doors loomed closer, and if I hesitated, Mom didn’t mention it.
School used to be my safe haven—a place where I could immerse myself in everything possible. But the older I got, the more I dreaded coming here. Middle school was bad, but high school was plain terror. I’d learned coping techniques over the years, one of which was to try and go by unnoticed. I kept my gaze fixated to the floor, only looking up when absolutely necessary. I didn’t initiate conversation with anyone, and most importantly, I never answered students back when they called me names. It worked…most of the time.
Even though the hallway lined with gray lockers was empty, that same pit in the bottom of my stomach, the one that always appeared when I was on school grounds, was evident. My palms started to sweat, and my body screamed to pull away from my mom and turn back around, but I wasn’t a quitter.
One year.
I only had one year left in this place, and then I’d be gone forever.
My mind was a whirl as we entered the main office and greeted the office secretary, Mrs. Madden. Her gray hair and worn face already showed signs of tiredness, and the school year hadn’t officially begun yet. Mrs. Madden handed me my schedule and reeled off my new locker number. Mom was adamant we find my new locker in the senior hall, walking ahead and calling out the numbers scribed on each one as she went. We’d done this every year since I’d started here, and today wouldn’t be any different.
“Here!” she announced, holding her arms wide.
I smiled and gazed around. Between two classrooms stood a row of ten lockers, and mine was right in the middle. I hated being in the middle, but I prayed Hope’s locker would be nearby.
Hope. The one person who attended school and did exactly what her name said—gave me hope.
“Can we go now?” I asked Mom, hoping I didn’t sound too whiney. I didn’t want to be here any longer than I a
lready had to be. I wanted to be back in my bedroom with my pile of throw pillows I kept on my bed—technically, they weren’t throw pillows because I never actually threw them off the bed when I slept—and lose myself in a book.
Mom’s smile dropped at the corners, but she soon built it back up and flashed it full force as she stepped toward me. “Of course.” She swung her arm around mine as we walked past the classroom door and down the hall.
The senior hallway was the one farthest back in the school, so we had to walk back past the office to get out—an office where students were starting to arrive. The sight of letterman jackets had my gaze veering to the floor and my hand lifting to push some hair over my face. The last thing I needed was for any of the football players to notice me, especially with Mom standing next to me. I didn’t understand why, in this technological savage age, they couldn’t just email our schedule to us?
Within minutes, we were back in the car and heading toward the diner. The diner sat almost exactly between school and our apartment. I wasn’t sure how my mom had gotten me into the school back when I’d been a freshman because it was technically out of our district, but she’d managed it anyway. Maybe she’d used the diner address? I could still hear the echo of her words in my head the summer before freshman year: “Only the best for you, hunnybun.” She always said that, no matter what we were doing. Everything she did was to make my life better. Maybe she thought if she did that then I wouldn’t remember what happened nine years ago, and that the memories would magically disappear? Whatever the case, she was wrong. Nothing would stop me from thinking about the night that changed everything. Nothing could erase the images in my head.
I glanced over at her and grinned as she tried her best to dance and drive at the same time. She was having a great time, while I was over here dreading the next year of my life. I couldn’t show her that, though. If she were going to put on a brave face, then I’d do exactly the same. Every day of my high school life was about going by unnoticed, and I knew running track would destroy that, but maybe it was time for a change. Maybe it was time I pushed out of my comfort zone, even if it was only to try out.
“Mom?” She pulled into a space in the diner lot and hummed in response. “I think I’ll try out for track this year.”
Her eyes widened, and her head swiveled to face me. “I…you…” Mom was never lost for words. I chuckled and unclipped my belt while she got herself together. “You are?”
I shrugged. For years she’d been trying to get me to try out for the track team. “It’s my senior year. I may as well try, right?”
“Yes!” She practically threw herself over the center console and wrapped her arms around me. “This is going to be the best year. I can feel it in my bones, Aria.” She pulled back and grasped each side of my face. “Do you feel it?”
I didn’t, but I nodded anyway. Fake it until you make it, right?
* * *
ARIA
Sleep hadn’t come easy, no matter what I tried: A soothing bath before I threw myself into my throw pillows, lavender mist to help ease my body into relaxation, counting sheep. None of it helped me get to sleep until three this morning. And now it was four hours later, and I resembled a zombie.
I pushed myself out of bed, brushed my teeth, and sorted my face out with minimal makeup before trying to tame my hair into submission. The end look was a beach wave, but I kind of dug it. It was better than the frizz ball it had been. I’d laid my clothes out last night—skinny black jeans, a white T-shirt with a rainbow on the front, and my trusty combat boots—so after one final check in the mirror, I declared myself ready.
“Aria?” a deep voice called from the other side of my bedroom door followed by a knock. “I made you breakfast.”
A grin spread over my face as I picked up my backpack and leather jacket that I probably wouldn’t need thanks to the never-ending summer, but the last time I’d left it at home, I got caught in the rain. I pulled open the door and tilted my head to the side as I took in one of the men who had come into my life and made me trust again. He didn’t understand why it took five years of dating my mom for me to talk to him properly, but Sal was a patient man. He didn’t push and knew when to back off, but most importantly, he was always there, no matter what.
“You did?” I asked him, trying to push my grin down a notch, but it wasn’t working. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had made me breakfast on my first day of school. Mom was always so busy with work that we usually grabbed something on the go.
Sal swiped his hand down his face and over the scruff shadowing his jaw, trying his hardest to come off as casual, but he was failing majorly. “I was cooking anyway.”
I stepped out of my room and raised a brow. “So you cooked me breakfast?”
Sal’s nostrils flared, but I’d learned a long time ago this happened for one of two reasons: he was angry or embarrassed. Today, I was going with the latter. “Get your ass in the kitchen and eat before your mom wakes up and starts harassing you.” His words were a complete contrast to his tone, but he didn’t have to tell me twice. The threat of Mom talking nonstop before my first day back at the hellhole people liked to call school was enough to get my butt moving.
The short hallway that housed our bedrooms and compact bathroom led into the living room and kitchen separated only by a break between carpet and tiles. The scent of bacon permeated the air, and I was really hoping there’d be a couple of pancakes thrown in there too, and maybe some hash browns just for fun.
Sal didn’t disappoint, because as soon as I sat my ass in one of the two chairs at the dining table, I was greeted with exactly that. But there was only one plate: mine.
“You were already cooking, huh?” I asked, making a show of glancing around at the absence of any other food.
Sal lifted his mug filled with black coffee to his lips and grunted. “That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
I shook my head and placed a strip of crispy bacon in my mouth. I may have been nervous and dreading walking back into those halls, but that didn’t mean my body would reject the delicious food. It would probably be the only meal I’d eat sitting at a table today because as soon as lunchtime rolled around, I’d head straight for my safe place: under the bleachers.
With only half a pancake left on my plate, footsteps sounded down the hallway, and I heard a groan that could only be deciphered as, “Coffee.”
Mom drifted into the kitchen—drifted was a nice word. She practically dragged herself. She gratefully took the cup Sal handed her and groaned again as she took the first sip. By the time I’d finished the last of my breakfast, she’d drunk half of her coffee and resembled more of a human.
“Morning,” she announced, first looking at me and then Sal.
“Morning,” I answered back.
“Jan,” Sal said with a nod. I nearly snorted at his greeting, which I should have been used to by now. You’d think he would at least have said good morning or maybe greeted her with a kiss, but that wasn’t Sal’s way. He was who he was, and that was the reason my mom loved him so much.
Mom blinked several times, and then she darted over to me. “It’s your first day back, and I overslept!”
“No biggie.” I shrugged, pushed myself up out of the chair, and carried my plate over to the sink.
“I’ll do that,” Mom said, following me over and ripping the plate out of my hand. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be ready to take you.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall and shook my head. “I need to leave now.”
“Crap!” The plate clanged in the sink as she scurried across the kitchen, and I winced. “I—”
“I’ll take her.” We both swung our attention over to Sal who stood in the same spot but with keys dangling from his fingers.
“I can’t miss her last first day of school,” Mom whispered. “I’m coming with you.”
“Mom.” I blinked and blinked again. She was wearing an old band T-shirt and booty shorts. “Not like that.”
>
“I won’t get out of the car.” She grabbed my hand and walked past the table where she managed to hook my bag and jacket over her other arm without even letting me go. “Come on, Hope is probably waiting for you.”
Crap. She was right. We’d arranged to meet on the south side of the lot, and she was probably already there.
I didn’t bother trying to get Mom to lessen her grip on my arm as we exited the apartment because it would be a useless task. We all piled into Sal’s pickup truck and off we went with Mom squished in the middle but bouncing in her seat. I wasn’t sure what she was saying on the way, because the entire fifteen-minute drive I was trying not to throw up what I’d eaten. Maybe a big breakfast the first day of school wasn’t such a good idea after all.
“Do you have everything?” Mom asked, and from the look on her face, it was definitely not the first time she’d asked me.
“I—”
“Cell, backpack, notepads, pens—”
“Yeah, I got everything,” I interrupted, knowing she’d go into everything I should always have on me, including sanitary products, body spray, and a rape whistle. Mom made sure I was prepared no matter what. I loved her for it, but she was overkill sometimes. I had to make allowances, though. We’d gone through hell together, even though she liked to pretend it never happened.
Sal pulled into the school lot, and I slapped my palm against his dash. “There’s Hope.” He slammed on his brakes, not giving one crap that he was now blocking the entrance.
“We’re both working the late shift, but call me if you need me!” Mom shouted as I pushed out of the truck.
Defy Fate: Fated Duet: Book One Page 1
