Home Read online

  Copyright © 2015 by Lynn Rider

  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 author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: Jennifer Roberts-Hall

  Cover Designer: Regina Wamba, Mae I Design

  Proofreader: Ryn Hughes

  Interior Designer: Erik Gevers

  Table of Contents

  Titlepage

  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

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  The nervous flutter that has taken residence in my stomach turns into a raging swarm of motion as I sit in my car and reread Austin’s text. I’ve tortured myself, reading his vague words at least a hundred times since first receiving them two days ago. I haven’t heard from him in weeks and I miss him. I don’t want to, but I do.

  I fell in love with Austin Harris in the tenth grade. He’s the love of my life, I know that, but we can’t be together. We’ve proven that repeatedly. Regardless, life continues to carve a path back to one another. It’s like a sick experiment by a higher power to see how many times a heart can break until it just stops beating.

  A shiver vibrates through my body when I open my car door to step onto the busy sidewalk. I’d like to think it’s the chill of another fall day in New York, but I know it’s not. It’s my nerves causing the tremble in my steps. As my unsteady feet take me further from the safety of my car, my stomach threatens its upheaval and I swallow hard.

  “One foot in front of the other. Breathe, Amber,” I mumble to myself like a crazy person as I walk the two blocks to the community center.

  When my company transferred me from St. Louis to New York just two months ago, I never dreamed our paths would cross the same week. I’d spent the first month in New York living with my best friend, Kelly. When Austin was released from rehab, he became her second houseguest since he’s best friends with her husband, Kyle.

  During those short two weeks when we both lived under one roof, I made sure my job kept me busy and out of their house for long hours each day. I avoided him, at least in person, but never in thought.

  He’s always with me, regardless of distance and time.

  I’m powerless and I know it.

  I glance up to the bold black numbers above the glass door, checking the address once more. With a deep breath, I step inside the dingy hall of the community center. Worn black and white linoleum square tiles color the floor in a checkerboard pattern while billboards litter the walls. My gaze is drawn to the different sized colored flyers that hang from the cork with equally bright colored thumbtacks. They advertise everything from trade schools to substance abuse meetings.

  “Can I help you?” an older man asks, slowing his pace as he rounds the corner.

  “I-I have a friend who has asked me to come here today,” I stutter, not really knowing why I’m here, only that Austin’s text said it was important to him.

  The man’s chocolate eyes soften as his smile claims his face. “Ah, yes. Come this way. I’ll show you.” He turns and leads the way down the hall. I follow him silently, no less nervous than I was when walking in.

  “Right in here. We should begin in just a couple of minutes.” He motions toward the open door.

  “Thank you.” I offer a meek smile before stepping over the threshold.

  Several sets of unfamiliar eyes land on me as I narrow my sights on an open area in the front corner of the room. I keep my head down, avoiding eye contact with those in the room, trying to hide my unease as I step carefully between the rows of metal chairs and settle into the last seat near the wall. I focus on the one lonely plastic chair sitting front and center of the small makeshift stage and concentrate on breathing, trying to forget the buzzing nervousness that has taken control of my stomach.

  A large, African American man dressed in all black draws my attention as he finds a seat across the room. I’d recognize Dave Smith anywhere. He’s hard to forget at six foot eight and all muscle. Last I knew, he was a bodyguard for Ashton Harris, Austin’s older brother and lead guitarist to Silver Knight.

  Silver Knight wasn’t Ashton’s dream; it was Austin’s. He and Kyle started it when we were in high school. Ashton only stepped in when Austin was sent to rehab and the label threatened to cut Silver Knight weeks before their first tour. He saved the band for Austin and the others, but it was never supposed to be his forever. Austin was to return when he beat his addiction, only that day hasn’t come.

  My breath catches and my heart stutters as Ashton and his girlfriend, Meagan, walk in and take seats in the back row. I’m certain he blames me for Austin’s addiction and wouldn’t be happy if he knew I was here, but I have a hard time pulling my eyes away. With the exception of a little size—and a whole lot of confidence—he and Austin look identical. Ashton commands the room’s attention when he enters and makes no apologies for it. Austin doesn’t possess that quality now because his addiction took it—or maybe it was rehab. He turns heads for his good looks, but that attention comes from women. Even straight men notice Ashton.

  The same man who showed me the room walks up the center aisle, steps onto the small platform, and clears his throat. “Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen. Most of you know how this works, but I see a few new faces, so I’ll explain briefly. This is a no judge zone. What is said in this room is not to be taken for granted. The words spoken by anyone who wishes to speak are the feelings, the regrets, and the hopes of the individual speaking them. We will be respectful of those words at all times. We don’t follow scripts or take assigned turns. If you want to speak and the floor is open, you take it. If you don’t want to speak, you don’t have to. With that, I’ll open the floor.”

  Austin appears out of nowhere, stepping up on the stage and sliding onto the lone chair. His dark brown hair is longer than the buzzed cut he’d sported directly after rehab. His leg begins bouncing up and down; this is the first time I can recall him nervous on a stage. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his thighs as he studies the floor. Lifting his focus, he looks toward the back and I know without following his line of sight that he’s looking at Ashton. He takes a deep breath with a long exhale before he speaks.

  “I didn’t have anything growing up, but I never recognized that because of my older brother. He provided love, support, an ass beating every now and then.” Austin laughs lightly. “I had great friends. No, I have great friends,” he corrects. “We had dreams of being the best rock band in the
world and we were on our way. I was on my way until I thought I was unbeatable. My life was on the fast track and there was no stopping me.” He pauses, taking his attention from the back of the room and landing it directly on me.

  “I had the love of my life by my side, a bright career ahead of me and lots of money being pushed my way. There was nothing I couldn’t conquer, until the most important piece of my perfect world stepped out of it. I couldn’t cope without her, so to soothe myself I drank and drank, until that wasn’t enough. Eventually, I added drugs to my cocktail. I took them by any means to feel the high. Swallowing them, snorting them, injecting them… I stopped at nothing to stop the pain of losing her.”

  His eyes hold mine captive until I can no longer focus through my tears. I look down, not wanting him to see my carefully constructed walls crumbling. Those walls protect me from Austin; I need them. And more importantly, I need him to think they exist.

  “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to clean up my life during that dark period, but I was powerless. The once unbeatable kid from the ghetto of St. Louis was beaten by it all. My brother swooped to my rescue, and to the rescue of my friends. He gave up his dreams for mine and for theirs. I vowed to him and all of them that I would get clean, and I did, but I didn’t stay that way. And again, I got clean and didn’t stay that way. Letting down my brother, my friends, losing the only woman I’ve ever loved and coming close to death by way of overdose… none of it rattled me enough to stay straight.”

  His pause causes me to look up again. His gaze is on the ominous-looking Dave. Tears spill when I close my eyes, holding them shut briefly, saying a silent thank you to Dave for saving Austin’s life from overdose.

  “My brother is still rescuing me, but he’s changed and I can’t help but think it’s because of the love of the incredible woman he has by his side. Together they’ve inspired me to want to be better, to give back for all the wrongs I’ve done. Recently he allowed me to step into what my former life would have been and let me tell you, it was a hell of a lot sweeter than anything I lived while high. I plan on renewing my promise to him and to my friends because even if I can’t live that life with them, another door will open. And I know there is something just as good waiting for me there.”

  Austin stands from the chair and within a few long steps, he’s down the center walkway and in his brother’s open arms. Their quiet, inaudible mumbles fill the room before walking out. Dave’s large body rises from his seat, his expression is strained with tension, visibly choked up by Austin’s comments and exits the room.

  I stay in my seat, stunned motionless by his words. I replay them on repeat and one thing stands out that I hadn’t heard before.

  Regret.

  Deep regret.

  A young girl steps up, taking the seat that Austin left vacant as I sit silently, lost in his words that linger in my thoughts. Austin returns and quietly makes his way to the seat next to me. His hand slides over my lap and wraps around mine. I pretend to listen to the young girl talk about what her addiction cost her, but I can’t hear over the thundering in my chest. His closeness brings back the familiar longing that with this release, things will turn out different.

  “Thank you for coming,” Austin says sincerely as we walk toward my car thirty minutes later.

  “Thanks for inviting me. I hope it works this time. I’ve always wanted you to be happy.” My eyes fall to the concrete sidewalk.

  “Amber, I’m sorry I let you down. I failed you. I failed us. I never thought it would be this way.” He sighs heavily with a brief look out to the neighboring buildings. “I thought we’d be in a house with the picket fence and… what’s that saying? Two point five kids? How the fuck do you get two point five kids anyway?”

  His laughter brings a smile to my face. “Who comes up with half the sayings out there?” I shrug, laughing softly and feeling more at ease in his presence.

  “Yeah, like bite the bullet. Who does that? Or don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. No shit.” He grins.

  “Wow, you’ve put a lot of thought into this,” I tease.

  “Rehab,” he drawls. “I was given a lot of spare time on my hands to ponder the important and unimportant shit in life.” Suddenly uncomfortable, my eyes drop to the concrete. “Amber, can I buy you dinner?”

  “As friends?”

  “As friends.” His hands raise innocently.

  “Sure, I’d like that,” I reply quickly, not giving my mind any time to decide why this is such a bad idea.

  “Fuck! You’re even more beautiful than I remember. I want to program this sight to memory,” Austin says huskily as he steps back from the side of the bed and combs me with his eyes. I should feel vulnerable, but I don’t. His mouth has just spent the last twenty minutes getting reacquainted with every inch of my body. He’s my first and only true love, and although it’s been years since we’ve been together, there’s a familiarity that hasn’t been lost. I knew when I accepted his dinner invite just three hours ago that this is where our night would lead. It always does.

  “Austin,” I whimper with need, pushing those thoughts aside.

  He climbs back on the bed, caging me with his body before drawing my lower lip between his and biting down painfully. When I gasp at his forcefulness, his tongue swipes into my mouth, silencing me. His kiss is aggressive—urgent—telling me he needs me as much as I need him. His body lowers over mine pressing me deeper into the mattress, and when our hips meet I feel his erection press against my body, intensifying the ache between my legs.

  “Austin, please,” I beg. He pulls back, studying me with his darkened lust-filled eyes while one hand works to free his pants.

  “Are you on the pill?” he asks, kicking his pants free of his leg.

  “Yes,” I answer honestly, earning his smile before he pushes into me in one quick stroke. He stretches and fills me, increasing my body’s need for him to move inside of me.

  His head arches back on the first thrust as he exhales a calming breath. “You feel so fucking good, Amber.” His words are thick, almost painfully so, as his eyes return to mine.

  I wrap my legs around his waist and pivot my hips, meeting every one of his long fluid strokes. I feel my orgasm building and as much as I don’t want this to end, I need to feel the euphoria that only Austin can give me. Home… if only for tonight.

  “Austin, I’m going to…”

  My words fall into a moan as I shatter around him. He slows the plunge of his thrusts, allowing me to savor the ecstasy he’s pushed me into. “That felt incredible,” he says against my neck. “I love being inside you when you come.” His thrusts deepen, becoming more purposeful until he finds his own release.

  He holds me tight, pressing his sweat slickened body to mine. “I love you,” he breathes against my skin. A bolt of panic shoots through me, erasing the calm and tightening every muscle in my body.

  When our breathing levels, he rolls off and pulls me into the crook of his arm. He holds me tight without another word as I lie in his arms pretending this is my life. I wish things were different and this could be my forever, but it’s not. And it can’t be. I can’t bring myself to tell him this won’t happen again. Austin Harris is my soul mate, the only man I’ve ever really loved, but we can’t be together. I know it, he knows it, and so does every other person who has witnessed the result of Amber and Austin gone bad.

  Even after the steady rhythm of his breathing tells me he’s asleep, I lie in his arms, wanting to soak up every ounce of comfort I feel. When my eyes fall heavy, I slither from his hold and out of bed. Piece by piece I pick up my clothes that litter the floor of his room and creep to the living room to get dressed. I dig an old receipt from my purse and write a quick note on the back.

  I have an early morning.

  Talk to you later

  A

  With tears in my eyes, I sneak out of his apartment… and out of his life.

  Six weeks later…

  I slam my hand against t
he top of the alarm, trying to stop the obnoxious sound emanating from it. “I hate you,” I whisper as I look at the glowing blue display.

  4:30 a.m.

  I sigh as I swing my feet from the bed, planting them firmly on the ground before nausea takes root for the third morning in a row.

  “Shit,” I mumble as I run to the bathroom. I throw my head in the toilet, holding my long blonde hair back to keep it from getting in the way of my stomach’s revolt. I heave several times leaving nothing behind. When I’m convinced I’m done, I spit, clearing my mouth of the nasty taste before sitting back on the cool tile. I wipe my eyes clear of the vomit induced tears and realize they’re still flowing.

  My eyes lift to the counter and see the pink and white box I bought on my way home last night. Folding my legs, I draw my knees toward my chest and lower my head, getting lost in the utter loneliness that surrounds me. I cry until I have no more tears. I take several deep calming breaths before I stand and stare at the box that’s been silently taunting me.

  “Not today,” I mutter before turning on the shower to start my day.

  “Good morning, Miss West,” Henry calls out joyfully as I step into the lobby of The Stanford.

  “Good morning, Henry. Everything okay today?” I ask, turning to the older man. Henry is our director of guest services and the best there is. He is the go-to guy for anything a guest would need while in New York City.

  “Pretty uneventful so far.” He smiles kindly before answering the ringing phone.

  The Stanford is one of the city’s premier hotels owned and operated by Seattle-based Holt Properties. They aren’t the biggest hotel chain but they are considered one of the elite. Our brand caters to the rich and powerful, so you’ll never see a Stanford on the side of an expressway.