With Every Breath
Allie Everhart
Contents
Also by Allie Everhart
Chapter 1
2. One Year Later
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
24. A Year Later
From the Author
Sneak Peek of Next to Me
Also by Allie Everhart
With Every Breath
By Allie Everhart
Copyright © 2019 Allie Everhart
All rights reserved.
Published by Waltham Publishing, LLC
Cover Design by Qamber Designs & Media
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, things, and events are fictitious, and any similarities to real persons (live or dead), things, or events are coincidental and not intended by the author. Brand names of products mentioned in this book are used for reference only and the author acknowledges that any trademarks and product names are the property of their respective owners.
The author holds exclusive rights to this work and unauthorized duplication is prohibited. No part of this book is to be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.
Also by Allie Everhart
THE JADE SERIES
Choosing You
Knowing You
Loving You
Promising You
Forever You
Finding Us
Becoming Us
Always Us
Garret: A Jade Series Companion Novel
THE KENSINGTONS
Needing Her
Keeping Her
Protecting Her
Only Her
KENSINGTON FAMILY NOVELS
Lilly
Lilly and Reed
MOORHURST COLLEGE DUET
Secrets Kept
Secrets Told
WHEELER BROTHERS
(series of standalones)
Next to Me
Give Us a Chance
Can't Let You Go
More to Us
STANDALONE NOVELS
Still Love You
Holding On
One Night
Anyone But Her
The Geek and The Goddess
Road Trouble
Lucky Star
Kinda Hate You
* * *
1
Skye
"Do we really have to go to this party?" I ask, reaching forward to brush dark purple polish over my pinkie toe.
"You'll have fun, I promise," Amy says, checking the mirror before changing lanes. She glances at my nail polish on the dashboard which slid a little when she changed lanes. "That's totally going to spill. Can you at least put the cap on?"
"Just one more." I dip the brush in the polish and paint my other pinkie toe. "There." I grab the polish, cap it and drop it in the cupholder. Then I bring my feet up on the dash and wiggle my toes to dry them. "Why do you want to be part of something that tells you where you have to be on a Saturday night?"
"Joining a sorority is about meeting people and being part of a group. I can't be part of it if I don't go to their functions."
"You already live with them. How much more time do you need to spend with them?"
"Skye, I've explained this to you. As a sorority, we're a sisterhood. We do stuff together."
"Sisterhood?" I chuckle. "Sounds more like a cult. The matching t-shirts. That song they make you sing. All the rituals. The mandatory parties. What's next? They tattoo your body with their symbol?"
"Some girls tattoo it on their ankle," she says casually.
I turn to her. "You're not doing that, are you?"
"No." She smiles. "But I thought of doing a fake one just to freak you out."
I relax back into my seat. "You're mean."
"And you're not? You put blue hair dye in my shampoo!"
I laugh. "It was azure, not blue. And it matched your dress. Jasper would've loved it."
"We'll never know because I had to cancel my date. Because I had blue hair!"
I shrug. "No big loss. He wasn't right for you."
"Yeah, but my mom liked him. I would've got points for that."
I roll my eyes. "Like you need points? Your mom thinks you're the most perfect daughter on the planet. She even tells people that."
"Which is so embarrassing," Amy says with a sigh. She grabs the mint tin from the center console. "Want one?"
"Yeah." I pop open the tin and take out two, giving her one before closing the tin. "Your mom took my gas card for that."
"For what?"
"The blue hair."
Amy gasps. "She did?"
"Only for a week. That's why I didn't use the car that week."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want you fighting with your mom over it. It really wasn't a big deal."
"Why would she do that over hair dye? It was a joke. And it washed out the next day."
"For one, she didn't want her precious Amy's beautiful blond hair turned Smurf color, and two, my little prank ruined your date with Jasper. She really wanted you to go out with him."
"Only because he's rich and his parents are both doctors."
"Really? I thought it was the fake British accent that won her over."
Amy bursts out laughing. "Oh my God, you noticed that too? I thought it was just me. I thought maybe I was hearing him wrong."
"Nope." I lean forward and blow on my toes. "He definitely has a fake British accent."
"That's crazy! Why would he talk that way? Everyone knows he's from Ohio."
"He probably thinks it'll get him girls. And it works. You were gonna go out with him."
"Only because my mom set us up. And he IS kind of cute if you like the rich preppy type."
"Which you don't."
"True, but don't tell Mom that."
"When are you going to let her see the real you? You're 21. A junior in college. And your mom still thinks you don't drink, have never had sex, and don't swear."
"The swearing part's true," she insists. "I don't swear."
"Bullshit," I say pulling up a text she sent me yesterday. "This guy at the gym is fucking hot! Perfect for you!"
She glances at me. "I didn't say it. I texted it. That doesn't count."
"Yeah, okay," I say, scrolling through my phone.
"So what'd you think of him?"
"Who?"
"The guy. The one at the gym."
"How would I know? I wasn't there. I didn't see him."
"I sent you a pic."
"You did?" I go back to her text and find the photo. It's far away so I zoom in to get a better look. "Not my type."
"Why not?"
"You really think this guy is my type?" I hold the phone up to her.
"Not when I'm driving," she says, her eyes on the road. She's one of the few people our age who refuses to look at her phone when she's driving. She always sees stories about distracted drivers and is determined not to be one of them. Her overprotective mom is, of course, the source for all those stories.
I take my phone back and reach over to test my polish. It seems to be dry so I lower my feet to the floor and pull on my black boots.
"Why isn't he your type?" she asks.
"He's cove
red in tats, for one."
"So are you," she points out.
"I have three. And they're small. And mostly hidden. I'd hardly call that covered in tats."
"But you like them, so you should like them on a guy."
"By that logic you should like preppy guys like Jasper who talk in a fake British accent."
She smiles. "Point taken. I swear sometimes I'm turning into my mom, trying to tell people what's best for them. I even did it to my roommate the other day. I told her the pink sweater looked better on her than the blue. I insisted she change sweaters and she did. That's totally something my mom would do."
"Maybe, but that doesn't mean you're her. A lot of people would tell someone if a certain color looked better on them than another. I had no problem telling you how much better the blue hair looked on you than the blond."
She laughs. "And you were wrong. It made my skin look yellow. It was horrible."
"I'm just saying, you and Aunt Nora are nothing alike, other than your blond hair and blue eyes. She just thinks you're alike because you won't let her see who you really are, which goes back to my earlier comment about letting her see the real you. You're not her little girl anymore. You're an adult and adults don't have to do everything their parents tell them to."
"I just don't want to disappoint her. She has so many dreams for me and I'm her only—" She clamps her mouth shut, then nervously chews her lip.
"Her only child," I say, finishing her thought. "It's okay. You can say it. It's not like it's not true. I'm her niece, not her kid."
"But you should be." Amy glances at me as she stops at a red light. "I mean, I know you're not her kid but you've lived with us since you were ten. My parents pretty much raised you, which makes you like their kid."
"Maybe to your dad, but not your mom. Aunt Nora hates me, which is fine. I really don't care."
"She doesn't hate you. She just doesn't get you. The black clothes. The type of music you like. Your art. It's so different than her that she has a hard time relating to you."
"She hated me even when we were younger and she put us in the same pink dresses and did our hair the same way. For awhile there, we almost looked like twins. Well, except for my brown hair and brown eyes."
"But you were still different. You liked to sit alone in your room and draw or paint or listen to music. I wanted to be out playing with the neighbor kids or shopping at the mall."
"Which is what you should've been doing instead of hanging out at home with your loner cousin." I point to the light. "It's green."
She continues through the intersection.
"You're not a loner," she says. "And I hung out with you because we're best friends. When I was out with other kids, I missed you."
"I missed you too," I mutter, not wanting to get all mushy but feeling emotional at her words.
Amy and I only have two years left of college and then we'll be going our separate ways. Living separate lives. It's just part of growing up but I'll miss her so much. She's my closest friend. The only person who really understands me.
"Crap, it's raining," Amy says, flipping on her wipers.
"There!" I turn and point at her. "You cursed! Told you."
"Crap isn't a curse word," she says, messing with the buttons on the dash. "Would you get the fans going? We're fogging up in here."
I crank the fan to high, then watch as it quickly clears the droplets that were clouding the window. It's dusk and the darkening sky combined with the rain is making it hard to see.
"Where exactly is this place?" I ask because it seems like we've been driving forever although it's probably only been ten minutes.
"It's at some house one of the frat guys rented. You have to go past the river and then it's a few minutes after that."
"Why is it out there?"
"Because the house is huge so we can fit a lot of people in there. And it's old so the owner doesn't have to worry about damages. He rents it out to college kids all the time."
I look at her. "The Henning house? Also known as the horror house? THAT'S where you're taking me?"
"Skye, it's not haunted. That's an urban legend. It's just an old house."
"That's next to a cemetery!" I fold my arms over my chest. "No way. I'm not going. Turn around. Take me back to the dorms. I'd rather sit alone in my room on a Saturday night than spend it at a haunted house. You know I hate those things."
"And yet you look like you belong in one with your black clothes and black hair," she mutters.
I huff. "Now you actually DO sound like your mom."
"I wasn't saying it's a bad thing. I'm just saying—"
"I'm an art student," I point out. "Art students where black, and even if I weren't studying art, I'd still wear black because I like it and it goes with everything. As for dyeing my hair, I think it looks better black than that mousy brown."
"Skye, I'm sorry. You're right. I do sound like my mom. I shouldn't have said it."
"Then why did you?" I ask, watching the rain droplets slide down the window. "You obviously said it for a reason."
"I said it because it's not you. I get that you like black and that it's artsy or whatever, but wearing it all the time? It's too much. You'd look good mixing in some color now and then. And your hair wasn't mousy brown. It was dark brown with light brown highlights. It was the kind of color people pay money to get in a salon. I don't know why you'd want to dye it. Unless...unless it's for some other reason."
She waits for me to say what that reason may be, but I don't.
"It's because of your mom," she says softly. "That's it, isn't it?"
"Don't start with this, Amy. I mean it." I keep my eyes on the window, watching the raindrops as they race down the glass.
"You don't want to look like her so you changed it. You dyed it black so you'd look nothing like her. But you still do. You always will. You have her smile. Her eyes."
"Just shut-up, okay?" I yell, turning to her. "Why do you always have to go there? Why can't you just leave it alone?"
"Because I don't want you changing who you are because of her. Being someone you don't want to be only because that someone is so different than your mom."
"That is NOT what I'm doing."
"It's not you, Skye. You're not some goth chick with—"
"I am NOT fucking goth!" I point to my face. "Are my eyes covered in black? Am I wearing black lipstick?"
"No, but the hair and the clothes—"
"Okay, stop. If we keep talking about this we're just going to fight. Talk about something else."
The car is quiet as we wait at another red light, the only sound being that of the wipers moving rhythmically over the window.
I'm so pissed at her, and it's not about what she said but because sometimes I think what she said is true. That I dye my hair because I don't want to look like my mom. I barely remember her but I remember what she looked like. I remember her mousy brown hair, same shade as mine, and her smile, which I see whenever I look in the mirror.
My mom is a hippie wanderer. That's what she calls herself. She has no home and doesn't want one. She moves from town to town and stays with whoever she meets. When I was born, she was more settled. She lived in a trailer she rented out with some old lady and stayed there until I was three. Then we moved to a different trailer in a different town. Some guy would come over and stay now and then. I don't know if he lived there or if he was dating my mom. After a year we moved again, and then kept moving every few months until my mom decided to ditch me when I was ten and go off on her own.
Moving around all those years was scary and confusing and I never felt like I had a home. That's probably why I've tried to block out that time in my life and the few memories I have of my mom. But I can still see her in her long brightly colored dresses, a scarf around her head and sandals on her feet.
I loved her dresses. I liked all the colors. I remember telling her she looked like she was covered in flowers. She laughed and told me I had the mind of an artist. That's on
e of the few things she was right about. Her prediction I'd be an artist. But it's only because I don't know how to do anything else, and because I'm good at it. So good I got a scholarship. That's why I'm in college. I wasn't going to go but Amy convinced me to, saying she wasn't ready for us to be apart. I wasn't either but I knew that wasn't the only reason she wanted me to go. Unlike everyone else, Amy believed in me. She knew I could succeed at college and managed to convince me of it.
Amy and I applied to the same school and she made me submit my artwork for a possible scholarship. Good thing she did or I'd have a mountain of debt right now. Instead, most of my college is paid for. Amy's parents are paying the rest but I promised to pay them back someday. It's bad enough they had to take me in when my mom left me at their house and never came back. I'm not making them pay for college too. If I make enough money someday, I'll pay them back my college expenses along with all the money it took to raise me.
"You need to get over the cemetery thing," Amy says, and when I look over at her, she's smiling. "The bodies aren't going to rise from the ground and chase you."
"They might. It's dark out. Everyone knows bodies are most likely to rise when it's dark."
She laughs. "If they do, I'll protect you. I have pepper spray."
"Doesn't work on zombies."
"It did on my dad." She laughs. "Remember when he wore that zombie costume on Halloween and scared Mom and she sprayed him with pepper spray?"
"Oh my God, yes. I was laughing so hard I almost peed my pants."
"Dad spent all that time making us a haunted house and then Mom saw him in that zombie costume and made him take the thing down, saying it was too scary, which it totally wasn't. Even the little neighbor kids weren't scared."
With Every Breath Page 1
