Table of Contents
Ruthless Renovator
Copyright
Dedication
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
RUTHLESS RENOVATOR
A HERO CLUB NOVEL
BY
PAISLEIGH AUMACK
RUTHLESS RENOVATOR is a standalone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s STUCK-UP SUIT. It’s published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works, written by various authors, and inspired by Keeland and Ward’s New York Times bestselling series.
Copyright © 2020 by Paisleigh Aumack and Cocky Hero Club, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Editor: Karen Hrdlicka
Proofreading by: Karen Hrdlicka
Cover Design: Designs by Dana
Model: Dan Rengering
Photo Credit: CJC Photography http://www.cjc-photography.com
Formatted by: CP Smith
DEDICATION
To my mom.
This book began while you were here and was finished after you got your wings.
You were always the driving force in my life. There was never a time
you weren’t cheering me on, encouraging me to chase my dreams.
Because of you, they are coming true.
I miss you more than any words I could write and love you more than I ever said.
Guide me, always.
PROLOGUE
Joss
Final Ride - Two Years Earlier
I STUDIED THE ramp before me. I took in every grain of the wood and went through what I had practiced for months to get to this moment in my head. It was a hard, long road getting here, but I knew I would. It wouldn’t end any other way.
I stood at the top of the ramp waiting to drop in.
The crowd was cheering my name, yet all I heard was the thumping of my heart in my chest increase. Nerves, no matter how long I was involved in this sport, were always present at an alarming volume before any competition for me.
The hot sun was beating down on me, causing the sweat to pour from under my helmet into my face and eyes. These skate tournaments had already taken their toll on my body and it took more focus and energy than they used to. I wasn’t old by any means, but the sport, and the injuries that had come as consolation prizes, didn’t afford a long shelf life, so thirty-two was old in this world. It didn’t matter how many times I got hurt though, I knew it would eventually come to this moment.
This was it.
My final ride. The last time I participated in a tournament as a pro skateboarder. The emotions surrounding that statement started to shift my concentration. There was no room for error in this competition. If you thought too much and let the swirling feelings control you, the risk of injury increased exponentially. Just as I had done so many times before, I compartmentalized my feelings of the finality so I was able to turn my train of thought back to my ride.
After putting those pesky thoughts away properly, I focused again. I was a vert ramp skater, but this eighteen-footer was the tallest I had ever attempted in my twelve years as a pro. I wanted to go out a legend and this ramp, mixed with the tricks I had in store, would solidify that status for me.
Well, it would make me more of a legend than I had already become.
See, in this sport, it wasn’t often a female boarder found success. I’d made it so there was no mistaking my abilities early on. There was never any ass-kissing or sleeping around to get me to where I currently was as the number one ranked skateboarder in the world. Yes, beating out every male in the sport. I went pro at age twenty, after I was scouted at multiple skate parks along the West Coast. There were always skaters who frequented the parks and they would watch and give pointers. That was when it meant something to be kind and share whatever talents you possessed with others.
One day, while working on some tricks at Venice Beach skate park, the most famous (at that time) and legendary, young hot boarder, Zane MacIntyre, or Mac as he was known in my world, came into my life. I had seen him around the skate park circuit but he had never seemed to care what anyone else was doing. He was more so focused on his own thing. Little did I know, I had caught his attention with my skating skills. While I was adjusting my pads and not paying attention before trying my heel flip again, he had come over to me to talk about my footing and speed. This particular trick was where the skater uses the front heel to flip the board in the opposite direction in the air. I was landing it hard but Mac taught me how to transition and make it work. After that day, Mac spread the word about ‘the girl to watch out for on the boards’ and before I knew what was happening, I had Mac as a coach, my first pro contract was signed, and the rest was history.
Mac was three years older than me but it felt more like twenty. He had been a pro skater since he was fifteen. He was signed young because his talents far surpassed anything anyone had seen, even from veteran skaters. Mac only skated for four years. After his nineteenth birthday, he sustained a career-ending injury during one of the highest profile skates of his life.
From the first day Mac helped me at the skate park, I knew I was in trouble where he was concerned. He didn’t treat me like a kid when I was skating and he was mentoring me, but off our boards that was how he saw me. I understood logically I needed to focus and skate but when it came to Mac, I always wanted more from him.
Skating was all I knew. Hard work was not something I balked at, even at my young age. It started as a way to deal with my angsty teen years, my aggression at the other kids because I was made fun of, and how I coped with my mom’s death when I was sixteen. Making a name and supporting myself, doing the one thing that never let me down my entire life, was more than anyone could ask for. So, it was only fair I gave back to the fans and the sport that had given me so much.
Right before the horn sounded and brought me back into the moment, a silence had fallen over the audience. I heard the deep voice that always sent tingles throughout my body yell what he always said to me any time I was about to ride.
“Let it rip, kid.”
Mac. He always knew exactly when to use that damn phrase.
That incredibly short sentence put a small smile on my face and sent a sense of peace through my soul as I looked down at my board. Now calm, focused, and entirely ready, I wiped away the sweat from my forehead and took in a deep breath to hold. I finally gave the cro
wd what they wanted and looked out into the stands. With a smirk and a nod, I gave my signature double middle finger salute, and slowly released the breath I held as I dropped in.
The crowd went wild as I approached the opposite side, clapping and screaming out to me. The height caused my speed to almost double from a regular half-pipe, but I knew it would make the first Monster Flip possible. The breeze from my speed cooled my face and I just smiled like I always did when that feeling of invincibility washed over me. The white tank I had on felt cool against my sweat-dampened skin and the holes in my black skinny jeans allowed some air in while I skated. My Vans high-tops were laced tight to garner the most support I could have around my ankles. As I grabbed my right foot I felt the brace under it, a gentle reminder why I was calling it quits.
Every trick was executed to perfection up until the last minute of my ride. The final sendoff was a 720 Gazelle flip. It needed to be done and it was a trick I had just recently mastered. It was risky adding it into this ride, but there was no way I wasn’t doing it. There was no practice video of me attempting it and no other pro skateboarder had ever attempted it on a vert ramp. I knew when I was about to hit air that I had timed everything perfectly and I had just done what no one, including Mac who was in the crowd watching me, had ever done. As I made the landing and rode up the opposite side, I was laughing like a crazy person and pumping my fist in the air. The feeling I had after that last skate was like nothing I had ever felt or would again.
Mac came running up to the top of the ramp, taking the stairs two at a time, and scooped me into his arms. He hugged me tight and spun me around while screaming in my ear how dope and sick that was. Mac had no idea I had worked that into my skate. He smelled so good and all I could do was take in his cologne, close my eyes, and imagine we would celebrate, just the two of us. His words of admiration and pride didn’t even register. I had just nailed the gnarliest skating trick ever, and all I could think about was the way Mac’s arms felt holding me tight to his body. Or how much better it would have felt if we were skin to skin.
All the signs were there that maybe, just maybe, I, Josselyn ‘Joss’ Easton, would finally be able to spend time with the guy who made my body come alive and my heart skip any time he was near me. Then, just like everyone else I had ever cared about, he let me go, kissed my cheek, and I watched Mac scoop up the hand of a woman known as a board bunny and walk away. Signs I thought were there were nothing more than my fantasies getting the best of me.
The crackling of the loudspeaker broke into my thoughts. As they announced me officially retired as the highest-ranked skater in the world during the trophy ceremony after the tournament, all I wanted to do was get back to my house, get drunk, and wallow in my unfortunate heartbreak, since I knew the one guy I wanted to celebrate with was celebrating with someone else.
CHAPTER 1
Zane: The Artist Formerly Known as Mac
Joss
TRAFFIC IN LOS Angeles was atrocious on a daily basis. That was why I opted to skate to work using any back roads that I could. I had a car, a Prius because I gave a shit about the environment, and used it when the distance was too far to skate or the weather didn’t permit it. Mostly, I tried to avoid places where I couldn’t skate. It allowed me to avoid the freeway nightmares, provided a great way to mentally prepare for my day, and was an even better way for me to stay in shape. Most importantly, it was a way to feel that connection to the thing I loved most in my life: skating.
I always left early in the morning when the sun was just starting to peek over the hills. The vibrant shades of reds, oranges, yellows, and pinks created the illusion that the very still skyline in the distance wasn’t already bustling with early risers on the streets below. The neighborhoods I soared through were all quiet, minus a few runners or folks heading to work. The homes were beautifully manicured and kept up. It was picturesque, calm, and made for an amazing backdrop. In addition to the peace the trek afforded, as long as I had my phone, playlists at the ready, earbuds, and my pack, I was set. The commute was never anything but enjoyable because I still craved getting on my board and skating. There was nothing more freeing for me at this point in my life and it was ingrained in my soul.
That didn’t mean I didn’t have days where I got in my head and thought about the last two years, because I did. I just tried to change my thought process when that started to happen. Compartmentalizing my thoughts was a coping mechanism I just couldn’t seem to get past. It wasn’t that I couldn’t vocalize them; I just didn’t trust many people with that type of knowledge. If they had the upper hand on me, it was a means to hurt me. The only three people who knew my thoughts and feelings on everything were my shrink and my two best friends, Arden Torissi and Soraya Morgan. One of them was sworn to confidentiality by law and the others earned every ounce of trust I put in them over the last two years. Besides, Arden already knew what my issues were before Mac pulled what he did. And Soraya found out after we met over copious amounts of shots.
Things changed for me when I retired and no longer competed. One month to the day after my final ride, Zane, the artist formerly known as Mac, now a highly sought-after skate park renovator, ran off to Vegas and married the skanky girl, Bibi, he hooked up with the night of my last skate. It was immediate tabloid fodder because apparently Bibi was some B-list actress or reality star nutcase constantly targeted. Each magazine recounted her status differently. None of it really mattered to me, except that I lost Mac. My Mac. So many pictures of them on red carpets, walking out of Starbucks, or in the back of cars being driven somewhere were constantly being printed or splashed on televisions across America. Really, it was just the cold shower I had needed to quell the shit still swirling in my head and heart where Mac was concerned.
At least, that was the lie I kept telling myself, the great doc, and my best friends.
Zane had essentially ghosted me. It was emotionally decimating radio silence and it left me completely confused and heartbroken. If I couldn’t be with Mac in that way, I never thought he would completely cut me out of his life, yet he did. Before anything else, I thought we were friends. I thought wrong. Seemed as though it was one of the easiest things he ever did in his life. It was silly, really, to feel any sort of hurt at all since he had no idea how I felt about him. I should have guarded my heart from his type of friendship but that ship had sailed. Women couldn’t ever truly be friends with a man without feelings being involved anyway, right?
Unfortunately, my experience said yes. But we can’t ever really help feeling the way we do sometimes, can we?
Without tournaments, traveling the world with other skaters, and seeing Mac everyday, I felt like I was no longer who I used to be and none of the connections I had made with people survived. Except for Arden. Mac didn’t even have the balls to tell me face-to-face he was married. Anyone who knew about it, and knew me, had smartly distanced themselves from my life already. I had found out through Google Alerts since I seemed to have missed the news through the tabloids. It wasn’t that far-fetched I wouldn’t see it on the news since I barely ever turned on my TV. I was more of a reader and worked at home most of the time prepping the show. The internet oh-so-heartwarmingly informed me the man I thought was my friend, and possible soul mate, really wasn’t who I thought he was at all with a sweet little pop-up alert on my phone. Hell, we’d even run into each other a few times after the news broke but our interactions were mere pleasantries for history’s sake and nowhere near what we used to have. Feeling iced out from Mac’s life was a hard pill to swallow, especially when we used to be together everyday. See, ghosted. A text or even a phone call was not too much to ask for, was it? Then again, if your feelings aren’t the same then I suppose there is no need to inform someone who used to just be someone you knew of a major life event.
The Mac I used to know was beautiful. He was the opposite of what I’d come to be; bitter, sad, closed off, and lonely. He had always been kind, open, funny, and exceptionally smart. He hadn’t pierc
ed his body or marked it too much with ink. Mac had some tattoos, but they were easily covered by his clothes—not on display like mine were—no matter what I wore. Mac had dark hair, green eyes, and a lean, tanned body. It wasn’t something I had seen up close and personal, but Mac would occasionally skate during practice runs with his shirt off when I was competing. Nothing crazy due to his injury. He had amazing calves and legs from all the workouts he did at the gym, and I used to fantasize about the power those legs would give him in particular situations. But that person is not someone I knew, not anymore.
This was the new and ugly Zane MacIntyre.
I had given myself one month to relish in the self-pity I had about never having enough balls to tell or show Mac how I felt, and I stuck to that. I gave up hope on him, any fantasies he would come back and make us an us, and we’d stopped running into each other because I avoided anywhere he would be. What I did remember about him was that Mac was a creature of habit, so it wasn’t hard to avoid him. It helped to stick to my self-imposed heartbreak allowance. I mean, everyone had to deal in their own way and that was mine.
About six months into my retirement, about four months after I started to move forward, Arden had informed me that her boss, Wes, was looking for a new fresh take on talk radio. Arden, who was the only other female skater I knew, told me Wes was hard to please but she had thought I was perfect for the job. We hung out frequently and she knew my personality enough to talk me up to her boss. When Wes extended an offer to come in and pitch an idea to him, I was excited about something for the first time in what felt like forever.
My idea was basically to talk to people and relate my past and present to the person I was interviewing. Nothing was off-limits including my skating life, my dating and sex life, interviewing people I thought were interesting, and doing off-the-wall bits. No-holds-barred. Anything goes as long as the powers that be didn’t come down on us. I knew when I pitched the idea it was a long shot. There’d never been a show on talk radio where the host was a world-renowned female talking about or with celebrities about things like those. But as far-fetched as it seemed, I was passionate about it. It felt like exactly what I needed to stop putting my feelings in neat piles inside my head.
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