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  Finding Us

  S.K. Hartley

  Copyright © 2014 S.K. Hartley

  EPUB Edition

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including but not limited to; photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at

  [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places and characters are figments of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. The author recognizes the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

  All rights reserved.

  Praise for The Bad Boy Series

  “S.K. knows how to pull my heart right out of my chest, then puts it back together whole and soundly beating.”

  – NYT & USA Today Bestselling Author, Katy Evans.

  “S.K. Hartley takes you by the hand and straps you in for a rollercoaster ride.”

  – USA Today Bestselling Author, Belle Aurora.

  “S.K. Hartley will have you rooting for one side, then throw you for a loop so you’re cheering for the other and will turn everything upside down by the end.”

  – NYT, USA Today & Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author, Tijan.

  Finding Us Playlist

  “Brand New Day” – Ryan Star

  “No Lies” – Jason Reeves ft. Colbie Caillat

  “Home” – Birdy

  “Words As Weapons” – Birdy

  “Paradise” – Coldplay

  “Love Will Tear Us Apart” – Broken Social Scene

  “In My Blood” – Black Stone Cherry

  “Castle Of Glass” – Linkin Park

  “Smoke & Mirrors” – Gotye

  “Jar of Hearts” – Christina Perri

  “Dark Horse” – Katy Perry

  “Figure.09” – Linkin Park

  “Faint” – Linkin Park

  “Breaking the Habit” – Linkin Park

  “Wrecking Ball” – Miley Cyrus

  “Crying For No Reason” – Katy B

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Praise for The Bad Boy Series

  Finding Us Playlist

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Finding Forever

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  ‘Finding’

  – The action to find someone or something.

  Even the dictionary can’t deny the need to find love.

  Prologue

  6 Years Ago…

  My right hand flexed around the 9mm Glock, my body instantly recognizing the weight against my palm. Slowly, I pulled it out from underneath my pillow, my hand tightening around the grip as I swiftly turned over in my bed, the sheets falling away from my body. Cold air greeted my legs as the tops of my thighs were exposed. I pointed the Glock at my bedroom door, where I was sure I could hear noises from the other side. I could hear my heart beating in my ears, distorting the sounds that were putting me on edge in the first place. Slowing my breathing, I tentatively pulled myself up from the bed, keeping my aim on the door as I moved to the middle of my room.

  I waited.

  My apple-scented shampoo hung in the air as my hair stuck to my face and neck, dropping my body temperature to new lows. My bedroom was small, only a single bed and a bedside table fit into the tiny box room. It was a far cry from what I was used to, the Manor seeming so far away. My breathing accelerated as the sounds became more audible, raising my heart rate to levels I had become accustomed to since I was a child.

  I could hear footsteps, the floorboards in the hallway creaking under the intruder’s feet as they moved closer. My eyes were concentrated on the slab of wood that separated me from the bullet waiting on the other side, my mind running through every possible escape route if I needed to take one.

  Someone was going to die today; it wasn’t going to be me.

  The chill of the room cooled my skin as I stood in nothing but an oversized shirt and boy shorts, my skin prickling as my chest heaved with every breath. My breathing became sporadic; one minute it was calm, the next it was as if I couldn’t catch my breath. I tried to take some control over my breathing, but my lungs felt like a lead weight in my chest.

  Shit.

  The creaking of the floorboards suddenly stopped: the silence in the house deafening. The chill had picked up, and I noticed I had left my window wide open. Rookie mistake? Or my saving grace? I could get out of that window and climb down from the second floor easily, but I knew as soon as I took a step towards the window, my intruder would be alerted to my movements. I had to face it—I had to face the possibility of my own death.

  My trained ear listened for movement, but I heard nothing. Not a single damn thing. Had the intruder fled? Was that just wishful thinking? I held my breath and waited, then exhaling as I felt my heart becoming steadier. I slowly moved my finger to the trigger, ready to squeeze gently if I needed to. Suddenly, I heard the distinct sound of a cylinder from a revolver click back into place: a sound no one wants to hear in the middle of the night.

  I braced myself, relaxing each and every muscle as I watched the handle of my door turn and click quietly. I could no longer control my breathing as the door opened inch by painful inch, accelerating my heartbeat tenfold. I couldn’t see my intruder, just a silhouette as their arm came into focus.

  I breathed in hard, exhaling as I took aim, counting back from three in my head. This could go so painfully wrong if I didn’t time it just right.

  Three…

  Two…

  One…

  The second I was about the squeeze the trigger, I instantly recognized my intruder. My heartbeat quickened and I was no longer aiming my Glock. My hand loosened around the grip, and I stumbled from the weakness in my knees. My body was suddenly limp from the adrenaline that had been coursing through my veins, and even though I was weak, I smiled.

  I was alive.

  My knees were about to give out; I could feel them slowly buckling underneath my weight. My intruder was instantly by my side, snaking his hand around my waist and taking my weight like I was a child. My skin prickled, but this time it wasn’t from the chill in the room; it was my body recognizing his rough voice, the familiarity.

  “Come on, little Willow. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Chapter One

 
; “Oh, sweet Christ,” I grumbled, squinting as the light filtered through the window and burned my sensitive eyes. I quickly forced them shut.

  Ouch.

  Pulling the pillow over my head¸ I groaned in protest as the side effects of drinking a stupid amount of tequila took hold of my poor, delicate brain. My tongue was dry as sandpaper against the disgustingly foul taste in my mouth as I clicked my tongue against the back of my bottom teeth. Fucking tequila and its stupid ideas.

  Slowly, and with trepidation, I pried open my eyes. The harsh light sent a jolt of nausea right through to my unsteady gut. Oh shit, it was a bad one. My vision blurred for a couple of seconds before finally evening out, but it seemed my stomach was having other ideas. The sudden roll of my stomach had me bolting upright on the bed, praying the tequila gods would be kind to me.

  Not likely.

  My stomach rolled for a second time, but this time it was accompanied by a burning ache in my already dry throat. I sighed; it was more than likely I was spending the day with my head in the toilet bowl and cursing the idiot who thought it was a good idea to make the shit that put me in this state in the first place.

  I was quickly on my feet when the third stomach roll bounded through my gut. I was going to throw up and it wasn’t going to be pretty. My hands instantly went to my mouth as I made the dash to the en-suite bathroom. I was unsteady on my feet, crashing into a pile of books on the desk that sat against the wall beside the bathroom door.

  “Fuck!” I hissed, causing ringing pain to jump through my skull. “Shit.”

  I made it just in time to pour my guts, and no doubt my dignity, straight into the toilet bowl. Minutes, hours, days ticked by. Slightly over-dramatic, but it felt like days with the never ending bile that erupted from my throat like a damn volcano. Sweat lined my body like a second skin as I peeled my head from the toilet seat, the foul taste of vomit taking over the musky aftertaste of tequila, each as disgusting as the other.

  When I thought I couldn’t possibly vomit anymore, I pulled off my sweat pants and Rolling Stones shirt. Stepping into the shower, I cranked up the heat to scalding levels, trying to rid myself of the gross smell of bars and booze. The heat from the spray awoke my mind and body, prickling at the sensitive nerves that rested just below my skin. Washing my hair, I was aware of the pulsing pain from my scar at the back of my scalp—it happened from time to time, a reminder—no doubt this time it probably had everything to do with the copious amount of tequila I had ingested the night before. The scar was something I carried and wore with pride, a reminder of my past: a past I was never going back to.

  As I rinsed out the apple-scented shampoo from my hair, my head rang out in pain from the constant headache I was now sporting.

  Courtesy of Mr. Jose Cuervo.

  Thanks, Jose. Thank you very much.

  “Stupid woman. Soooo smart drinking that much tequila, huh?” I grumbled to myself in a mocking tone.

  The hangover hadn’t lost any of its power over my weak body as I stepped out of the shower; if anything it was growing more and more determined to piss me off further. Grumbling, I managed to wrap a towel around my body and hair without any hangover related mishaps. In the past, there had been a few times where I had to peel myself from the slippery floor, and it hurt like a bitch. Standing in front of the mirror on the cabinet above the sink, I took in my appearance. Dark circles hung beneath my eyes; they were always there, consequences of being a light sleeper, even in my inebriated state. Then there were the scars—minute scars that lined small areas of my skin on my face. One just below my lip where my tooth had punctured my skin, another just above my left brow where my skin split. Scars and imperfections I would never allow anyone to see, not to mention the scar on my scalp that was still throbbing painfully.

  Makeup, to most people, is a way of enhancing beauty, subtly showcasing beautiful features that, without it, dulled beneath their uneven skin tone. To me, makeup was much more than that; it was my way of hiding the ugliness that lurked within, hiding my scars and becoming my mask. I took pride in my makeup. It helped me through the times when I couldn’t even look in the mirror to see the ugliness that had set in so deep. I had scars, not just the ones that sat on my skin; they were deeply engrained, a stark reminder of my hidden past.

  Opening my makeup bag from beside the sink, I noticed my hands shaking as I pulled out a small jar of moisturizing cream. I sighed to myself. I needed coffee and some greasy food; tequila always had this effect on me; the trouble of wanting to drown out my past, I had no control or understanding of when to stop drinking the foul shit.

  Shaking my head, I slowly applied the cream to my skin, ensuring I worked out every pore to its limit, concentrating on the big, gaping dark circles below my eyes. Once I had polished my skin with the cream, I set about applying the first and most important layer of my mask: foundation. People underestimate foundation; whether it be in powder or liquid form, it’s exactly what it says it is: a foundation. You wouldn’t try to build a home without putting down the foundation, it holds up everything that’s built above it, making it stronger and more resilient to forces beyond our control.

  It took half an hour to finally perfect the mask that would hide everything, to hide the person lurking in the background. Now I was Low Parker, the girl that didn’t take shit from anyone, the girl who knew her identity and embraced it. We’re all masked in one way or another, trying to hide something, or someone. No one’s perfect. I had the scars the prove it.

  The headache from my ridiculous hangover raged as I pulled on some black skinny jeans, bouncing around my skull like a tennis ball as I pulled on a cream tank top that read “Walking Disaster” in a thick black font. Ironic, considering my life and my current dark mood. Stepping into a pair of black cowboy boots, I was nearly ready to go. Picking up my phone from my bedside cabinet, I fired over a text to Neva, checking in on how she was doing, before throwing it into my purse along with all the other useless shit I needed.

  The time read seven-thirty as I made my way out from the dorm and onto campus grounds, my hangover still ever present and kicking my brain’s ass in the skull department. My mask may have been on, but deep down I was still the same person, no mask could ever truly hide the demons of our past, no matter how flawless the mask may be.

  Taking a lung full of crisp, cool air, I made my way to the small coffee shop that sat on the corner just off campus. It was still early, only a few students passing me by, too worried about their own lives to take notice of the girl hiding in plain sight.

  To my friends, I was the girl with the bubbly attitude and a fiery temper to boot. I was the girl who had the unenhanced blonde hair, ice blue eyes, and flawless makeup. But, I was more, so much more than anyone could ever imagine.

  Shaking my head as if to rid my thoughts, I sped up my step, arriving at the Black Bean Coffee Shop in no time. The place was small, sitting right on the corner of the block of stores that lined the street. I loved this place: it was vintage, homely, and intimate. The exterior was painted in a pastel mint green, black lace stencils adorned the bottom half of the brick walls, while large bay windows showcased the vintage style further. A small scattering of black iron tables and chairs sat outside in the morning air, two spots already filled with students as they sipped their morning coffee, checking their Facebook pages no doubt.

  Making my way into the shop, I smiled as the scent of coffee hit my nostrils. Since arriving at college, coffee has become my addiction, my weakness. I’ll take it any way I can get it, as long as it’s a double shot and piping hot. Thankfully, at this time of morning, the shop’s pretty quiet. Stepping up to the counter, a wide smile broke my face as I noticed Jared Spencer prancing around listening to Roar by Katy Perry as he made an espresso for the customer standing to the right of me.

  “’Cause I am a champion and you’re gonna hear me roar!” Jared sang cheerily as he slid the coffee to the woman chuckling beside me.

  I rolled my eyes as he smiled, flashing
me a wink.

  “Usual?” he asked, pulling out two takeout cups.

  “Do bears shit in the woods?” I said on a groan, the throb of my head reminding me I was still hung over.

  It wasn’t hard to notice the small sadistic smile Jared flashed as he went to work on my double shot espresso. Moments later he slid my espresso across the counter to my waiting hands.

  “Ahh, liquid heaven.” I sighed, inhaling the rich aroma from my coffee cup. The scent alone loosened my tense muscles, taking the edge off the monstrous hangover.

  “Two skinny lattes!” Jared hollered to absolutely no one, the glint in his eyes told me he knew I was dealing with a hangover from hell. His voice sounded like a high pitch shrill, ringing into my ears and playing my brain like a freaking drum kit. I really should lay off the tequila… and kill Jared.

  “Jared, dude, lower the freaking volume, would ya?!” I groaned, slowly rubbing my temples, trying to alleviate the throb that had decided to come back full force.

  Jared’s laughing eyes meet mine as he slid the lattes across the counter in a drink carrier to the customer who had stepped behind me. “Late night?” He chuckled.

  Now if my head didn’t feel like it was about to roll off my shoulders and land into a poor, unassuming stranger’s lap, I would’ve probably slapped that stupid smile off his face. Jared Spencer was the hottest piece of ass on campus; dirty blond hair that was long in the front and short at the back, deep blue eyes that instantly pulled you in, and let’s not forget the rocking hot body underneath his apron. But, there was a downside… he’s gay. I’m not talking a little gay; I mean thrust your hip out, pout like a model gay. Such a shame.

  “Just because you can swallow margaritas like water doesn’t mean the rest of us can, you know,” I said, raising my brow.