Amour Battu: Timeless Love: A series of Standalone novels Book 2

by Mj Fields

  Amour Battu

  A Timeless Love Stand Alone Novel

  MJ Fields

  Blue Valley Publishing LLC

  Contents

  Title

  Play List

  Dedication

  Synopsis

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Part II

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Part III

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Part IV

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Part V

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Part VI

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  What’s next in the de la Porte world?

  About the Author

  Also By Mj Fields

  Acknowledgments

  Would You Like To Help?

  Copyright© 2018 by MJ Fields.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  The use of artists, song titles, and brand names throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as advertisement. Trademark names are used in an editorial fashion with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This book may not be re- sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and please purchase your own copy.

  Cover Design by Jersey Girl & Co.

  Edited by Mandy Smith with Raw Book Editing www.rawbookediting.com

  Proofread by Asli Arif Fratarcangeli

  First Edition: December 2018

  Play List

  O-o-h Child by The Five Stairsteps

  Indestructible by Disturbed

  Bodies by Drowning

  Last Resort by Papa Roach

  I Stand Alone by Godsmack

  Man in the Box by Alice in Chains

  More Than Arms Reach by Adurn

  A Closeness by Dermot Kennedy

  Burn The House Down by AJR

  Happier by Marshmello / Bastille

  You Are My Sunshine by Jasmine Thompson

  How Long Will I Love You by Ellie Goulding

  Consequences by Camila Cabello

  Wasting my Younger Years by London Grammar

  Fallen So Young by Declan Donavan

  Breathe by Flurie

  Be Alright by Dean Lewis

  Click to Play

  Dedication

  Not every battle is left on the battlefield, some we carry with us.

  This book is dedicated to

  The military heroes who walk amongst us every day.

  To all those whose scars have faded but have never truly gone away.

  And to the angels who help us believe that it will someday all be okay.

  My dreams were always in black and white, once in a while, I’d be gifted something gray.

  Until her.

  Then, I broke her. I tore her up. I shattered her. But she was breathing, living, and I knew damn well, she was on the verge of loving, but it couldn’t be me.

  I turned from her for the red white and blue. Because war, destruction, hell even death was more welcome than the possibility of hurting her.

  I didn’t deserve her, and she sure as fuck didn’t deserve me.

  Part I

  Natasha (A Prelude To A Kiss)

  1

  Sixteen Years Old

  My laptop’s fan begins to hum and the upper right corner of the screen tells me it’s two in the morning.

  Pushing myself back from the small desk, I stretch my arms over my head, alleviating the soreness in my back caused by being hunched over for… close to four hours watching YouTube. I rub my eyes and stand.

  James Charles, one of my absolute favorite YouTubers, enthusiastic and openhearted, voice blasts, “Hi Sisters!”

  It should have been louder; I think as I tap the side of the old headphones I leave here at Dad’s, assuming there is a crossed wire causing the weak connection.

  I tap the other side and still nothing. “Damn it,” I mumble under my breath, not wanting to speak too loudly or my siblings may hear me and wake.

  When the light in the small bedroom comes on, I look toward the door and see my father in his boxers, not wearing his glasses, stumbling toward me, lips jutting out as if telling me, ‘Shh,’ but I can’t hear him because the headset is covering my ears.

  Yet I can still hear James.

  I pull them off as he’s reaching for me, and gasp when I realize the old headphone’s wires weren’t crossed at all. The cord must have pulled out and my beloved James was happily telling the entire house his latest makeup tip.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper as my dad palms his face. One of my sister’s sobbing echoes through the wall.

  His face scrunches up like he’s annoyed, and behind him I see my stepmother’s angry face.

  “Shit,” falls out of my mouth and I cover it quickly.

  “Could you turn that… that… thing off, for the love of God!” she yells.

  My stepbrother Johnny chuckles, “Is that a dude?”

  My stepmother Sabrina yells, “Davis!” and points at me with a look of disgust.

  My half-sisters, twins Jordan and Joy, both crying, come running in my room. The step-monster drops to her bony knees and hugs them, coddles them, apologizes to them for me and then says, “Do you have something to say to them?”

  It’s silent and all eyes are on me. Dirty little Johnny looks me over with a nasty pre-pubescent grin. I cross my arms over my chest to shield them from the little pervert and glare into his beady little eyes.

  “Davis, do something about her!” Sabrina half demands, half pleads.

  Dad gives me a beseeching look like he always does when she’s being over the top.

  I take two steps toward them, squat down, hold out my arms and smile as big as I can. They run to me for a hug and I say, “Hi sisters!”

  “Ugghhh! Davis, you have to do something about her! Get her into therapy! She’s always going to be—”

  Dad’s balls take this moment to re-appear. He cuts her off, but I know what she’s going to say, I’ve heard the words whispered so
many times I lost count. She’s going to say I’m different.

  He raises his voice just below a shout, “That’s enough.”

  As he ushers her out of the room, I hug my sisters and they stop crying. When I glance at Johnny, he still has a dirty little grin on his face and he’s staring at my backside.

  “Get out,” I hiss at him.

  He looks into my eyes, now tauntingly.

  I glare at him in warning when he starts to walk to my computer. His finger traces the case and he begins to open it.

  “Don’t you dare,” I snarl.

  With a devilish gleam in his eye, he lifts it.

  And my James’s voice blares through the speakers. “I have the fattest crush on a boy right now, and he's actually gay for once!!!”

  Sabrina squeals from the other room, “DAVIS! I. Told. You!”

  Johnny runs to the door as I dive for the computer and slam it shut.

  The step-monster runs in, Dad hot on her heels.

  The girls are crying again and Johnny, the little shit, is covering his ears screaming, “Make it stop!”

  “You little sh—”

  “Get her out of here! Can’t you see? The devil himself is inside—”

  “Enough!” Dad yells. “All of you, ENOUGH!”

  Sabrina, who thinks I need an exorcism, jumps back and covers her mouth.

  An hour later and I am stepping out of an Uber in front of mine and my mother’s Brooklyn apartment.

  I see her. My mom is beautiful. She’s tall, five foot seven, long, wavy brown hair and dark blue eyes. Eyes that are so expressive, I can practically hear them. Right now, as I step out of the car, they’re screaming worry.

  “You okay?”

  I nod as I hurry into her outstretched arms.

  As her hug tightens, tears roll down my face.

  She doesn’t pry and I am so thankful she doesn’t. She merely ushers us into the building, walks us to the elevator, presses the button, and within moments we’re inside our home.

  I wipe my nose with my sleeve before pulling my arms out. Mom takes my jacket and hangs it in the entry closet. She waves a hand to the couch, “Movie?”

  I nod as I toe off my flats and walk to the oversized couch, one you can actually sit on and feel comfortable, unlike the one in my father’s showroom slash living room.

  My mom, Angela, calls over her shoulder as she opens the cupboard that holds the cups, “You pick the movie while I make us some tea?”

  Sniffing, I answer, “Yeah.”

  I search through the movies we have downloaded as Mom makes our tea. When she sits next to me, I still have the remote in my hand.

  “Can’t find anything?” she asks as she sets the cups on the coffee table and pulls the thick, gray, woven yarn blanket off the arm of the couch to cover us, then sinks into the sofa. I lean against her shoulder.

  “Tired?” she asks as she positions the blanket.

  “It’s four in the morning, Mom, of course I am.” I sigh and then I realize it may have sounded harsh, and she doesn’t deserve harsh, so I add, “I know you must be, too.”

  “Not too tired to listen when you’re ready to talk, Na—”

  “I don’t ever want to go back there again. She’s a horrible person. And Dad! That man, he has no balls, Mom, none. And Johnny is a little peeping perv.”

  The entire occurrence comes forth from somewhere deep inside of me in the form of tears, words and sobs.

  She hugs me, holds me together, and listens.

  She. Listens.

  Half an hour later we’re watching the Little Mermaid, my favorite Disney movie.

  “I’m tired,” I yawn.

  “What’s keeping you awake then?”

  “Sebastian,” I smile.

  “You’re waiting for the song.” She smiles back.

  “Kiss the girl,” I nod, “yeah.”

  “Always that song,” she whispers and I snuggle in closer.

  I must have dozed off because when I wake, I wake to Mom’s whispers from her bedroom.

  “I will not argue nonsense with you, Davis. You have—” she stops. When she begins again, her voice raises an octave, which never happens. “Put it on a chain, for God’s sake, Davis.”

  There’s a brief pause.

  “Your wife!”

  A longer pause.

  “Let me stop you now. A young man like James Charles owns who he is. He helps others accept who they are and love themselves.”

  Pause.

  “Davis, you and I both work in the world of fashion. Sabrina used to work the runway shows as a makeup artist, putting makeup on men.”

  I’m unsure of when the giggle began building, but I have to cover my mouth to stifle it. It may have started from the giddy feeling I get when people stick up for others or the fact that my mom finally gave my dad a little bit of hell… for once.

  I quietly get up and move closer to her room so I can hear better.

  “My daughter doesn’t need to be judged by a woman who, after having an affair with a married man, decided to find Jesus. And, Davis, just so we’re clear, a woman who has an issue with a young man like James Charles owning who he is, needs—”

  Pause.

  “Fine, our daughter doesn’t deserve to have some, some…” she pauses, “wayward soul judging her because she took a wrong turn on the straight and narrow path to righteousness. Jesus wouldn’t be at all impressed. So, you relay the message, and if that doesn’t help, I have no issue doing so. And if that doesn’t work, tell her to get some help. Our company’s healthcare plan includes mental health benefits.”

  I bite my lower lip, trying not to laugh out loud, and hear Mom pace back and forth across her hardwood floor as she listens to my father.

  She lets out a loud sigh and after a second begins to talk again. “I’ve decided that I’m going to let Natasha go to the private art and design school in the city. Before you say a word, I don’t need your money. I’ll figure it out.”

  I bite harder because this is a dream come true. My dream.

  Another pause.

  “Well, clearly she’s more interested in the arts than she lets on, and I’m going to do whatever I can to foster her love of… whatever she wants.”

  She pauses and I’m dancing inside.

  “You do whatever it is you need to do, I’ll do the same,” she huffs then tells him, “have a great day.”

  I’m now standing in the doorway waiting for her to hang up, fighting the urge to tackle hug her from behind.

  “Thank you for the offer, Davis, but she’s sleeping and I’m sure she’d rather not go sit in church with you all today.”

  I watch as she ends the call and tosses her phone on the bed, then… I tackle hug her.

  2

  Natasha

  Due to an overwhelming amount of excitement, I’m no longer tired. The level of excitement? An eleven out of ten.

  Mom and I sat in front of the TV and mindlessly flipped through the dozens of Disney movies we’ve watched and re-watched, discussing the changes coming in just a month with school beginning… a new school.

  I will no longer be attending an all-girl Catholic school, with classes taught by nuns, where we all wear uniforms. This is especially exciting because fashion has been something I’ve adored for as long as I can remember.

  My earliest memories are of watching Mom altering dresses for proms, weddings, and events, at our house. That’s what she did to make money after I was born, instead of going to work outside the home. I loved watching her transform department store gowns that were made for the ideal woman, not the average woman. She would make the frumpiest of finds look fabulous, which in turn caused the saddest, most insecure smiles to shine.

  We spend an hour looking at the de la Porte fall line and pick out classic looks that I can pair with more age-appropriate clothes.

  “It’s all too much money, Mom.” I shake my head from side to side. “I know tuition is going to—.” Her laugh cuts me off.
<
br />   “I get a hefty discount. And, Natasha, I never want you to worry about money. If I couldn’t figure it out, I wouldn’t have decided it’s what’s best.”

  Pondering, I look down at my hands, push my fingers through the loosely woven material of the blanket and knot them.

  My mom’s hand covers both of mine, stilling them.

  “Natasha, what is it?”

  “I want this, Mom. I truly want this, but...” I stop to organize my thoughts. When she squeezes my hand, all the jumbled words fall out… unorganized. “You can’t afford it, and this is, is, is.” I snap my mouth shut so hard my teeth hurt. The stutter I had outgrown chooses now to reappear? “Is because Sabrina was picking on me and, and, and,” I take a deep breath. “You’re trying to, to, to—”

  When she lets go of my hand and stands, I feel panicked.

  “I, I, I.” Oh god, she’s walking away. She never walks away from me. He does… she doesn’t. “I appreciate.”