Genre: New Adult
Contemporary Romance
Paige Parker thinks she
has everything figured out. Even though her heart is broken, she manages to
find love again, and she’s sure this time it’s for
keeps.
Between planning her
wedding and working on garments for her upcoming debut fashion show, Paige is
overwhelmed. When her fiancé, Henry, suggests a couple months away from the
hustle and bustle of the Big Apple to focus, she is thrilled to use the
opportunity to reconnect with her best friend, Emmie.
Paige heads to Texas,
ready to spend some quality time with Emmie and her baby girl, Olivia. When she
arrives, she is shocked to find herself face-to-face with Christian Bennett,
the man who broke her heart.
She finds herself
confused. Is she truly over her first love? Is she making a mistake marrying
Henry? Paige follows her heart, but this may be the most painful decision she
ever makes. It leaves her wondering if true love is possible ONLY IN
DREAMS.
*This book contains
mature situations as well as some mature language.
**While this book is
part of the Stubborn Love series it is not required to read Stubborn Love to
appreciate Only In Dreams. Each book can be read as a stand alone or as part of
the series.
Check out a sneak peak of the
book!
I LOOK AT the clock
again. I’m not sure what secrets I expect it to reveal. I’ve looked at it at
least a hundred times in the last hour. 3:46 AM. Next, I look at my phone. This
has become my ritual this evening. I have somehow become the girl I swore I
would never be—the one waiting at home for the phone to
ring.
When Christian and I
moved in together three months ago, I thought the things that had been haunting
him would somehow disappear. But, if anything, he has gotten worse. Even Emmie
knows something is wrong. Though she does her best not to flaunt her and
Colin’s love fest in my face, I can’t help but look at them and be reminded of
all the things that are wrong between Christian and
myself.
I’ve tried talking to
him about his behavior. I tell him I can see that he’s hurting; this approach
only makes him angry. I know he’s been drinking again, but every time I try and
discuss it, he tells me to quit mothering him. Christ, I’m twenty-two years
old. I shouldn’t have to worry about this stuff. Yet here I am. I look back at
the clock. Damn it Christian, where are you?
The most horrible and terrifying
things a person can imagine have been going through my mind. I’ve tried calling
his cell several times, but now the mailbox is full. I mean, come on, a full
mailbox? He would be furious if I treated him this way. When my agent called me
earlier today and told me about an opportunity in Paris to model I turned him
down flat. But now, with each passing minute that Christian disrespects me,
without so much as a call, I am reconsidering my
choice.
I love him; I know that
much. And I used to be pretty sure he loved me. All of my model friends float
from guy to guy and can’t seem to understand what Christian and I have. It just
doesn’t make sense to them. Of course, it’s not making very much sense to me
either right now.
My mom was always in
competition with me. First, with my dad, she would do everything she could to
make sure he saw me as worthless. Eventually he couldn’t stand being around her
anymore. That was when she tried to use me as a weapon against him. I never
blamed him, or maybe it was just that I no longer cared enough anymore about
either of them to give a damn. But when my mom started making fun of me and
telling all her boyfriends what a loser I was, I decided I wanted to be anywhere
except in her house.
Then Christian walked
into to my life. I wasn’t looking for a man to rescue me; I was never that kind
of girl. No, the great thing about him was that he was just as messed up and
broken from the death of his parents, but somehow, we made sense together. At
first we partied, and then when Christian realized after graduation that he
didn’t seem to know when to stop drinking, we simply fell into our next phase
of life together. We could go out with all our friends, and because we had each
other, Christian never needed to get wasted. He just liked being near
me.
I’m not kidding myself.
For the most part, I know he has always been about himself. He likes to look
good, he likes to hang out with a certain crowd and attend the important events.
When life gets to be too much you can find him at the gym, working on his
massive muscles. Even Colin, his brother, is constantly teasing him about his
man-scaping. But even though he likes himself a lot, he’s always managed to
make me feel important and loved … until now.
I know if I could just
get through to him, figure out what’s causing all of these feelings he has been
having, I could help him. But … I hear the key in the lock. I shift in my seat
multiple times, unsure how I should handle this confrontation. My heart begins
to race. Without thinking, I leap from the chair I am perched in and flop onto
the couch, laying down with my eyes closed.
What am I doing? I
think. Am I really going to pretend like I’m asleep? Apparently
so.
I hear the door open,
and Christian grunts as he fumbles with the lock, trying to remove his keys.
Once the door is closed I listen for the lock to latch, but it doesn’t happen.
Instead I hear footsteps stumbling toward me—dragging across the floor. From
the smell assaults my senses, I can tell he is extremely
intoxicated.
I wait silently,
assuming he’s now staring at me, but I can’t be sure. It’s too late not to
continue with the charade. Then I hear more footsteps, and the bedroom door
bash into the wall. Quickly I sit up and turn around, watching Christian
stumble into the guest room. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Why on Earth
would he be going in there?
I’ve had enough of the
game. I want answers. I deserve answers. I hop to my feet and rush across the
living room, poking my head in through the doorway Christian passed through
moments ago. He is passed out, still fully dressed, including his shoes. Lying
sideways across the bed, drool leaks from his mouth.
“Seriously?” is the only
thing I can think to say. I want to cry; I want to throw things at him, and
scream horrible things at him. But I don’t do that. The last time I cried was
when my dad left, and I decided nobody would ever get to see me do that
again.
Christian mumbles an
inaudible response, which then trails off into a
snore.
“Christian? You’ve got
to be fucking kidding me.” I try again, but I know he won’t be waking up. Our
talk will have to wait until morning. Unfortunately, sleep won’t come as easily
for me.
****************************
THE HOURS TICK by, and
just as I suspected I’ve been unable to sleep. I lay in our bed at first, my
face growing hot with anger. Then I clean, but I hate cleaning, so that doesn’t
last long. I think about calling Emmie around six o’clock, but that seems
whiney and desperate. Not to mention the fact that I know most of what I tell
Emmie she will tell Colin. If Colin knows Christian is getting wasted every
night, it will start a huge fight between them, just giving him more ammo to
use against me.
No, this is my problem,
and I need to deal with it. By seven, I have come to the conclusion that maybe
Christian isn’t taking me seriously. I am always happy to clean up his messes,
and it seems that he is well aware of it. Maybe now what he needs is some tough
love. Maybe he needs to know I’m not going to be taken for granted
anymore.
I waffle on this
decision for sometime—I’m not one for idle threats—and before I make the
ultimatum, I need to be certain I’ll follow through. Poking my head into the
guest bedroom one last time is all it takes. The room smells like a distillery.
I realize now I love him enough to leave.
Packing my suitcase is
harder than I thought it would be. I keep telling myself, he won’t let you
leave, seeing your packed bags will be enough. Going through the drawers, one
by one, folding up my favorite thrift store treasures or photo shoot take home
items, my mind drifts to Emmie.
She was a wreck when I
met her. She didn’t have any friends and was clearly suffering when it came to
her fashion sense. I was the one who encouraged her to see how things would
turn out with Colin. I was the example of happiness … wasn’t I? How did I end
up here? I missed my last two modeling jobs because Christian needed one thing
or another. Now my agent had warned me that the calls would stop coming if I
didn’t start putting my best foot forward.
I gather the essential
hair and makeup products I cannot live without and strategically place my
suitcases against the wall, so that Christian will see them first thing when he
wakes up. Then I wait, and wait, until I refuse to wait any
longer.
Grabbing a wad of cash
and my keys, I shove them into the pockets of my jumper and head to Ninth
Street Espresso to grab a coffee. After a night of no sleep I need it,
especially if I am going to have anything left in me for the shit storm that I
know is going to happen when I get home. I keep having these moments where I
think perhaps I’m overreacting, but as I recall the recent months, I quickly
dismiss these notions.
“Hey Bill,” I grumble as
I approach the counter.
“Paige, where’s
Christian this fine morning?”
I debate how to answer.
Christian and Colin are the owners of the space the coffee shop rents. While a
huge part of me wants to unload on Bill and tell him exactly where Christian
is, and exactly what my boyfriend can do to himself, I worry how this might
affect their business relationship.
“Sleeping in.” I decide
to play it safe.
“Boy, he’s got it rough,
doesn’t he?” Bill laughs. I feign a smile as I watch him prepare my
latte.
“New tat?” I inquire,
trying not to think about my good-for-nothing sloth of a boyfriend who is still
passed out at home.
“How can you possibly
notice that? Besides my girlfriend, you’re the only one,” Bill marvels, handing
me my cup. Bill has tattooed sleeves on both arms; it is something I always
take notice of while he makes my drinks. I’ve always been fascinated with body
art—tattoos being a permanent fashion statement.
I pull out the wad of
bills from my pocket, even though I already know Bill is going to wave me off.
“On the house,” he says.
I couldn’t explain it to
him. I had been taking free coffee from this place for as long as I could
remember. And until today it was merely one of the perks of dating an owner of
the building, but now, it feels dirty. I am so angry at Christian, the free coffee
perk has become an unimaginable sin.
“No, I insist, you
always give me freebies. I think we should start a policy where I at least pay
for one out of a hundred,” I joke, shoving the money further onto the
counter.
“Your money is no good
here, you know that,” Bill replies lifting his hands up into the
air.
Grabbing the wadded up bills, I
drop them into the tip jar and walk out, flashing a smile over my shoulder.
Bill is nice; it is too bad his landlord is such a dick
head.
The walk home is the
longest walk I have ever taken. I’m more than fine if it takes me the rest of
the morning to get home. But, even with dragging my feet, a short fifteen
minutes later, here I am, staring at the front door of my
building.
I really do love this
place, the ivy has begun to climb across the brick, and I am so thrilled I
convinced Colin not to cut it back. The window boxes are overflowing with the
springtime flowers I recently planted. As I fiddle with the keys, small rays of
sunshine filter through the leaves of the big oak tree that is bursting from
the seams of the green space on the sidewalk.
This place is home—one
of the few places in my life that I feel like nobody can take away from me. Now
that Christian and I live together, we can never undo the choice. He owns the
building, so if anyone is going to move out, it is going to be
me.
I shake my head, trying
to force the idea out of my mind. There is no way it is going to come to that,
I remind myself. Even if I left for a few days, Christian will realize how
miserable he is without me, and I will be back—back in his arms. And not the
arms of the guy passed out in the guest room. I’ll be back with my Christian,
the one I fell in love with as a teen.
I climb the stairs and
enter the apartment. Looking around, I quickly realize Christian still isn’t
awake. I huff and push the wild strands of hair out of my face. I’ve waited
long enough. This needs to happen.
Stepping into the guest
room, I clear my throat, loudly. Christian lay in the exact same position as
the night before, clearly undisturbed by my presence. Angrily, I rush over to
his oversized, beefy body and give him multiple shoves. “Wake up. You need to
wake up, now!”
“Huh,” he says with a
snort, wiping the drool gathering on his cheek with the back of his hand.
“What’s going on?”
He seems startled. He
lifts his eyes, and squinting, tries to block out the light more with his
hand.
“We need to talk,” I say
coolly.
I watch as he rolls his
eyes and flops back down onto the bed, clearly disgusted I woke him. “Can’t
this wait?” he moans.
“It has waited, all
morning,” I reply firmly.
“Paige, I’m serious, I
feel like shit.”
“That’s not my
fault.”
“Jesus! I said not right
now.”
“Don’t you dare raise
your voice to me,” I command, completely in shock that he would have the nerve
to talk to me that way after putting me through hell last night. “For all I
knew you were dead last night.”
“I left my phone in
Pete’s car,” Christian defends himself, not bothering to lift his
head.
The answer does not appease me,
only further infuriating me. “Pete Hannigan? The loser you said you were never
going to see again, because all he does is hang out with a bunch of roadie
losers at Kings and get drunk all the time? That
Pete?”
“Yeah, that Pete!”
Christian shouts, suddenly sitting up and glaring at me. I watch as he clutches
his head, the sudden adjustment to his body and light obviously causing an
intense pain. I’m not too ashamed to admit, I kind of feel he has it
coming.
“What’s going on with
you?” I beg, fighting the urge to rush up and start shaking him
wildly.
“Nothing,” he grunts,
standing and pushing past me to make his way into the bathroom. I walk into the
living room, taking a seat on the chair that faces the door. He will have to
look at me when he comes out. He will have to give me the answers I
deserve.
I hear the flush, then a
few seconds later he emerges from the doorway. He doesn’t look at me, though.
He makes his way to the kitchen sink and sticks his head under the faucet.
After a good soaking, he lifts up, and while dripping water all over the floor,
proceeds to question, “Where are the migraine pills?”
“Basket on the top of
the fridge,” I answer. I don’t even know why. I have all this anger and fight
inside of me, but all of the sudden I feel incredibly overwhelmed with sadness.
He really doesn’t care if I am upset. Perhaps I’ve been fooling myself about
who he really is. As a girl I would watch my mom date these slime balls who
would use her up until they were done and then throw her away. My stomach sinks
as the idea I am exactly the same as her hits me.
“It’s like a fucking
jackhammer in my skull,” he moans as he fidgets with the childproof cap,
growing angrier.
I can’t explain exactly
what clicks for me in that moment. I stand and glide into the kitchen casually,
grabbing the bottle from his hands, and pop the lid off with ease. I deal out a
dose, replace the lid, and turn to pick up my bags.
“Where are you going?”
he asks, noticing the luggage for the first time.
“I’m leaving,” I say and
make my way to the door, but before I can get there, he takes hold of my
arm.
“Where? A job?” I can
see it in his eyes. He knows what is happening as much as I do, but his voice
almost sounds hopeful it really is just a modeling job.
“Yeah,” I reply. I don’t
intend on taking the job in Paris, but when he asks me the question, the reply
just slips out.
“When will you be back?”
he inquires, his eyes shifting from my bags and then to my face
repeatedly.
“I’m not coming back,” I
answer, a sigh of relief passing my lips. This isn’t at all how I had expected
the talk to go. I planned to complain and tell him how miserable I am. I would
demand he change, or I would move out. But standing at the door, this isn’t the
tone at all. Christian is the kind of broken that I can’t fix—he needs to fix
himself.
“What the hell do you
mean?” He is clearly becoming agitated very quickly.
“You know this has been
coming for a long time. You need help, and I hope you get it, but I can’t sit
here and watch you self-destruct. I love you too much for that. I can feel the
rush of emotions building up, but I know this goodbye can’t be emotional, or it
will scar both of us more than we can handle.
“Are you fucking kidding
me? I party too hard with the boys, I don’t check in, and you’re
done.”
“I—”
“I don’t want to hear
it, Paige. I’m sick of the drama. Get out then, if you’re leaving, just leave,”
Christian snaps before turning his back to me.
I’ve never felt two such
conflicting emotions at the same time. Part of me can see he is hurting. I want
to scoop him up into my arms, pull him in close, and make it better. But then
there is another part of me that loud and clear is telling myself, you deserve
more than your mom and dad, you deserve more than him.
And then it happens, I
says the words, “Goodbye, Christian.” The door closes behind me, my first love
on one side, the rest of my life on the other.
About Wendy Owens
Wendy Owens is a 34 year
old author, born in the small college town, Oxford Ohio. After attending Miami
University, Wendy went onto a career in the visual arts. For several years she
created and sold her own artwork. In 2011 she gave her true love, writing, a
try. Her first novel flowed from her in only two weeks time, as though it had
been fighting to get out. That moment was when she knew she had found her
calling. Wendy now happily spends her days writing the stories her characters
guide her to tell, admitting even she doesn’t always know where that might
lead. Her first series, The Guardians, will be concluded with the fifth and
final book in 2013.
When she’s not writing,
this dog lover can be found spending time with her tech geek husband, their
three amazing kids, and two pups, lovingly nicknamed stinks and chubbs. She
also loves to cook and is a film fanatic.
For more info on Wendy’s
young adult fiction visit http://wendy-owens.com/
If you want to follow
her on social media you can visit:
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