The Right Guy (My Guy Series, Book 4)

by Liz Lovelock

  THE RIGHT GUY

  Copyright © 2020 Liz Lovelock

  All Rights Reserved

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover Design by Ben Ellis from Be Designs

  Photographer: Reggie Deanching from The Stable & Models of RplusMphoto

  Models: Vince Alexander Azzopardi

  Edited by Lauren from Creating Ink

  Proofread by Jen Lockwood Editing

  Formatted by Tami at Integrity Formatting

  www.lizlovelockauthor.com

  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

  Epilogue

  Preview - The Lost One

  Also by Liz Lovelock

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Connect with Liz online

  I can’t believe I’m back here again.

  Stepping into my old bedroom feels like time has warped, like it’s playing some kind of sick joke on me. The smell of musty old things immediately hits my senses. That mold—mixed with some other scent I would rather forget—leeches into me, making me screw up my nose at the disgusting odor that lingers all around me.

  White curtains with a lace trim line the windows; only now the trim has browned with age. I quickly walk over, moving them out of the way, and shove the window sash up to let in some fresh air.

  As I swing around, I notice the walls are still painted pale pink—well, sort of. The pink has turned into more of an off-pink now, and some of the paint is peeling from the ceiling. Even my original pink bedding from when I was here last is perfectly made on the bed.

  That’s going to be the first thing I change.

  Why did she not update the decor?

  My bags drop from my shoulder and fall to the floor with a heavy thud.

  Attempting to find something—anything—that will help me connect with this room and my past, I expel a heavy sigh and close my eyes tightly. Panic stabs right through me as anxiety takes hold, while a memory of the way my father’s loud, angry voice used to echo through these familiar, yet not-so-familiar, walls.

  I release my breath and open my eyes, endeavoring to push thoughts of that man far from my mind.

  I didn’t have to come here. I could’ve stayed exactly where I was—in a house that now belongs to me, considering my father has passed away. Only, I want nothing to do with that house anymore. That’s why I came here. I need closure because, for years, I waited for my mother to come to me. When she didn’t, it left me feeling inadequate. Lacking. Wanting more from a mother who simply wasn’t able to provide the motherly love when I needed it the most. And quite frankly, she never fought for me.

  They say when parents split, it’s the kids who suffer. Well, I most certainly did. I never got to know my mother. My father, a decent man—or so I thought—left with me in tow when I was nine and told me my mother was unfit to take care of me. Now he’s gone, and I’m here with her, ten years later, in her home.

  This is not exactly how I remember it, and she has a new family now.

  A family I didn’t know existed.

  My father lied to me.

  Everything he ever told me about my mom was fabricated. He said she was unfit to care for a child and had not one ounce of motherly love in her body.

  When he first took me away, I remember begging him to take me back. I missed my mom. I missed her touch. I remember living in this house, and I know these walls hold the answers to my past and where my life all went wrong.

  I waited for the day when Mom would show up at my dad’s door to take me back home.

  Only, she never came.

  I wish I knew all the details of what came to pass, but my father died with his lies, and now I hope my mom can help me discover the truth.

  “Are you all settled in?” My mother hovers by the doorway, which makes this whole situation even more uncomfortable than it already is.

  Shrugging, I say, “Uh… yeah. Perhaps I need to redecorate.” I smile.

  She laughs, a hint of nervousness coming through in the tone. “Oh, yes, of course. I didn’t want to go ahead with changing anything unless you had a say.”

  I swallow then reply, “Thanks.”

  I stare at her as she twists her fingers nervously, an action I am mirroring. My hands freeze and then drop to my sides. The more I look at her, the more I see myself. And the more I see, the more I want to know her. I have a million questions, but not today. Everything is still so raw, like a graze on my knee that stings every time it’s touched. Only, this graze is on my heart.

  Her shining green eyes are masking a shimmer of tears. “Charity, I am sorry about your father. I’m so sorry for failing you. I should have done better.” Her voice cracks, and the lump in my throat returns. It seems to be a permanent fixture lately whenever someone brings him up. That familiar pain, the agony that stabs me through the heart.

  “Mom…” I sigh, unable to form the right words, finally all I can manage is. “Thanks,” I don’t know this woman. I have no idea whether she knows the pain I have been through.

  “Anyway, if there’s anything you need, please let me know. Also, I’m not sure what food you like. If you can leave me a list of things you might want, I’ll be sure to get them for you from the grocery store.” She steps forward. I’m sure she’s going in for a hug, but then the mask pulls over her eyes, and she quickly shifts back and exits my room, shutting the door with a quiet click on her way out.

  A sigh escapes my tight lungs as I collapse onto the double bed covered in a pink blanket. My body feels as though it’s run a marathon, yet I’ve only been in the car. It was a very stale, silent drive with Mom. She tried to make small talk, but I didn’t feel like speaking. Forming a relationship with someone I hardly know is going to take time—and lots of it.

  Leaving behind what few friends I had was difficult. People here, in this house and town, are lost memories for me.

  There is this one face that’s stuck with me over the years, though. His blue eyes were in my dreams for a long time after I left. Jase… my old best friend.

  Three very light knocks at my door drag me from my thoughts. “Come in,” I call. The
handle clicks and slowly opens.

  Leaning over, I try and see who’s there.

  Is it Mom?

  A young girl pokes her head around, and I sit, welcoming her with a smile.

  “Who are you?” she asks without hesitation.

  “I’m Charity. Who are you?” I shuffle on my bed and tap it for her to come and sit with me.

  In skips a gorgeous little girl, like she doesn’t have a care in the world. “I’m Grace. Momma told me you’re my big sister. I’ve always wanted to meet you.” She climbs onto my mattress and sits with her legs crossed. Familiar, bright-green eyes like mine, like Mom’s, stare back at me. Sister. Mom told me about her, but seeing her now is surreal. She’s tall, probably comes up to just under my arms, and is wearing the cutest little pink frilly dress with a bow placed perfectly in her hair.

  I suck my bottom lip between my teeth and bite. I’ve never had a sibling. A small amount of anger bubbles inside me toward my dad. Why did he keep so much from me?

  “I am your sister. How old are you?”

  Grace wriggles up, sitting tall as though she’s in a classroom. “I’m seven this year,” she says proudly. Her hair is long and dark, like mine, and those questioning eyes burrow a place right into my heart.

  “Wow, that’s a good age. How are you liking school?” Oh my goodness, I want to know so much about my sister. I’ve already missed seven years of her life; I don’t want to miss a second more.

  Dad never met anyone new—well, no one I knew about. Mostly, I spent my time on my own. Dad never allowed me to have friends over, so I learned quickly that books were my best friends. Every chance I got, I had a new title in hand; of course, they all had to have a happily ever after, simply so I could get the feeling of love. Even if it was just from between the pages of books. Love was something Dad sadly couldn’t give me, so I sought it elsewhere.

  She rolls her eyes, and I laugh. “School is okay. I like seeing my friends. I don’t like my teacher, though. She yells a lot, and it’s scary when she does.” She pauses a moment. Her head drops and then bounces back up. “I’m glad you’re here. Mom has always told me I had an older sister that she hoped I would meet one day.”

  An overwhelming warmth spreads through my chest. Here I’d thought she’d completely forgotten about me. I was wrong.

  “Thank you,” I choke out. “I’m glad I get to meet you as well. I hope we can become good friends.”

  Grace slips off my bed and comes to stand in front of me. She doesn’t hold back; instead, she throws her arms around my neck and squeezes. My eyes well up, and a quick tear escapes. She smells like strawberries with a hint of apple. I hold on to her tiny frame and wish for these moments to never stop.

  “Ah you’re kind of squishing me.” Her voice sounds strained. My arms instantly loosen.

  “Sorry.”

  Grace grins. “That’s okay. You give good hugs.”

  I laugh. “So do you.” It’s as though the crater of emptiness I’ve been experiencing most of my life has suddenly filled up the moment her arms went around my neck.

  She leans back and dances on her toes, clapping her hands. “I can’t wait to show you my room, and I want you to see my favorite park down the road.”

  “Hey, I might be able to show you a few places. I did some growing up here when I was your age.” I wink.

  “Oh, that would be fun. Can we go now?” She grips my hand and attempts to pull me off the bed.

  Her eagerness is contagious. “Maybe not today. I’m a little tired from traveling, and isn’t it close to dinnertime?”

  Her shoulders slump. “Okay. Maybe after dinner then?”

  “Only if your mom says it’s okay,” I say. She’s a little pushy, this one, but I love her spirit.

  She spins on her heel and leaves me to my bowl of emotions. It’s a mix between anger over what I was deprived of and sadness that I couldn’t see my sister and become her friend sooner. I wish I could have been here for her when she was growing up. Thankfully, she’s at a very forgiving stage in life.

  Things are going to be different now. I’m here, and I don’t plan on going anywhere.

  As I roll over, my stomach twists anxiously. Light gently filters into my room between the curtains. Today’s the day I go back to college. After some full-on phone calls from Mom to the college, I’m finally allowed in.

  The thought of coming face to face with people from my past is terrifying. The Charity they remember isn’t the same one that left. Then there’s Jase, my old best friend. Does he still live here? It probably doesn’t matter. I was nine, and I’m sure whatever kind of friendship we had is long forgotten.

  My phone vibrates on the nightstand. “Hello?” I answer.

  “Hello, is this Charity?” An unfamiliar male voice comes through the line.

  Sitting, I say, “Yes, it is. Can I ask who’s calling?” I glance at the clock on the wall; it’s eight in the morning. Who’d call this early?

  “I’m Marcus, calling from Jacob and Son’s law firm. It’s to do with your father’s will.”

  My stomach clenches. “Oh, okay. What’s wrong?”

  “No, nothing. We need to arrange a time we can get together. As I’m sure you’re aware, your father left you with everything. Things need to happen with the house you both were occupying. I understand you have moved in with your mom?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to live in that house.”

  “I understand.” His tone tells me he doesn’t, though.

  I sigh. “I wanted to get to know my mom and the family I have left that my father kept from me. Please forgive my bluntness, but I don’t have the time to travel at the moment. I’ll organize people to pack the house up and put it on the market.” It’s been a week since my arrival. I didn’t need to come to live with my mom, but I wanted to. I am nineteen, after all. I wanted to get to know her; she’s been a missing piece in my life. I’d sought her out. I needed someone. Growing up, my father kept a close rein on me, and my friends were limited, even at eighteen almost nineteen. School and home were all that was allowed.

  Marcus clears his throat. “I’m sorry. Okay, well, when would be a good time for me to go through everything with you?”

  “Now, because I don’t want this hanging over my head as I wait for your call to come. What do I need to know that I don’t already?” I snap. What a way to start my morning.

  “Okay, so, your father obviously left you the house, his car—pretty much everything.” I hear papers shuffle then he speaks again. “Did you have someone to handle things here, or would you like us to deal with the sale of the house and all the furniture? Your father has accounted for us taking care of it all; whatever it is you want to do.”

  “Fine. You take care of it. I’ll email you my address to ship things. I also want the car sold. Sell every bit of furniture in the house. I only want the photos and letters that might be lying around. Get rid of all the plates, pots and pans—all of it. I don’t need it. I would like everything from my bedroom shipped here. The bed, bedding, desk—you name it. Anything in that room, I want to be brought to me.”

  There’s silence for a brief second before Marcus says, “All right. I have that all written down. I’ll get things happening, and I’ll be in touch if there’s anything I need from you. Please email me your new address.”

  I scribble down his email address and end the call.

  A knock on the door pulls me from the anger that I’m dwelling on. “Yeah?” I call.

  “Is everything alright? You sounded angry.” Mom steps into my room.

  I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “Yeah, everything is okay. It was Dad’s lawyers. They’re taking care of everything for me, shipping me all the smaller stuff and anything else I want. I’m selling all the furniture and the house and the car. I’ve got them bringing all of my bedroom furniture, though. I hope that’s okay.”

  Mom reaches out and takes my hand. The warmth surprises me. I’ve never known this compassion. “Charity, I’m hap
py to take you back to sort everything out if that’s what you want, and if you want anything brought here, that’s fine. This is your home as well.” She squeezes my fingers.

  I shake my head. “No, I’m done with that place.” If she knew all the details, I’m not sure she’d want me to go back either.

  “Okay. I’m here if you ever want to talk. Get ready and come down for breakfast. You’ve got a big day today.” She gives my hand one more squeeze, and I feel it right in my heart.

  I want to open up to her, to tell her everything. It’s hard to do that; I have no idea where to begin. Being here with all of them has been some of the best days of my life over the last ten years. Why the hell did I stay where I was? I should have packed my bags and left. Oh, that’s right. Dad liked to tell me no one would ever want me.

  Standing in front of the mirror, I overthink what I’m wearing. I shouldn’t care. My father always told me if something wasn’t appropriate. “Skirts are for ladies,” he would say on numerous occasions. I’d then go and get out of my comfy jeans and pull on an ankle-length skirt or dress. I’m wearing dark-blue jeans that I’ve never been able to wear. I’d had them tucked away in the back of my cupboard so he wouldn’t find them and throw them out.

  “Wow, you look pretty.” Grace stands at my doorway. She moves like a ninja, this girl.

  Running my hands over my simple white tee, I say, “It’s nothing crazy. Just casual.”

  She shrugs. “Still looks good.”

  Turning around, I take in her outfit. She’s dressed in bright-pink tights with a light-pink tutu. “You’re the one who looks good. Do you have a dance class before school?”

  “Nope, this is what I’m wearing to school.” She sways her tutu from side to side.

  A smile tugs at my lips. “Well, you look beautiful. I might need to take some styling tips from you.”

  She giggles and runs out of the room.

  I turn back to the unfamiliar girl in the mirror. This is the new me. New Charity. Look out, world; there’s no holding me back now.

  After tying my hair up in a simple messy bun and applying some foundation, eyeliner, and mascara, I make my way downstairs. The smell of bacon makes my mouth water and stomach growl at the same time.