Love & Ruin (The Love & Ruin Series Book 1) Read online

  Love & Ruin

  J.A. OWENBY

  Copyright © 2018 by J.A. Owenby

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting J.A. Owenby. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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

  Edited by: Deb Markanton

  Cover Art by: Book Cover Luv

  First Edition

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7321510-5-5

  ISBN-10: 1-7321510-5-9

  Gain access to previews of J.A. Owenby’s novels before they’re released and to take part in exclusive giveaways. www.jaowenby.com

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter 35

  Acknowledgments

  To my husband, you are my forever. Thank you for being my biggest supporter.

  To my community of authors and readers, thank you all so much for your support.

  The Truth Series

  The Truth She Knew

  Echoes Beneath

  Whispers of Her

  Stand Alone Novels

  Fading into Her, A Novella

  Where I’ll Find You

  A note from the author:

  Dear Readers,

  If you have experienced sexual assault or physical abuse, there is free, confidential help. Please visit:

  Website: https://www.rainn.org/

  Phone: 800-656-4673

  This book may contain sensitive material for some readers. Gemma and Hendrix’s story is considered a dark romance with language, sex, and violence.

  Chapter 1

  I was no longer living. I was merely surviving.

  Ada Lynn’s worn rocking chair creaked as she rocked in a slow, steady rhythm on her front porch. She was nosy, but over the last four years she’d become my only friend.

  “Hello, Gemma.” Her voice was strong, even though it shook slightly with age as it floated through the muggy, early evening air.

  “Hey, Ada Lynn. How are you feeling today?” I pulled open the mailbox, the only extracurricular activity I had for the day. My eyes narrowed when I noticed a new splatter of bird crap that had graced the top of it. Reaching in, I grabbed the small stack of letters.

  “Well, not much has changed since yesterday. At my age, everything hurts.”

  The sky darkened briefly as a single white, puffy cloud drifted across the late afternoon sun.

  Weather permitting, she would lean on her cane, hobble outside, and sit every evening. She was one of the few people I’d spoken to in person in five years—other than my parents. At nineteen, this would not be an easy feat for most. I found it easy after someone in the sleepy little town of Breaux Bridge, Louisiana, stole my life, turning it into a shell of what it used to be.

  “Whatcha got, there?” Ada Lynn’s chin tilted up with her question.

  I shuffled through the letters, my shoulders tensing when Hillview University’s red, black, and white logo caught my eye. Raising my arm, I tucked the remainder of the stack into my armpit.

  “Not sure.” I ripped off one end of the envelope, opened the letter, and shook it free. The thin paper rustled in the soft breeze while I read it.

  “Come on now, you can talk to ol’ Ada Lynn. Something’s got your goat, I can tell by the look on your face.”

  Folding the letter and envelope up quickly, I shoved it into the back pocket of my vastly oversized denim shorts. My T-shirt hung almost to my knees, so even if my shorts slipped some, no one would notice.

  “Nothing, just junk.” I brushed the stray red hairs out of my face that had escaped my ponytail and approached her chain link fence, smiling.

  “You got a whole lot of junk there.” She nodded toward my hand holding the additional mail.

  “Everyone wants you to buy something, so they pile up your box with nonsense. At least most of it’s Mom and Dad's. All I get is an occasional credit card offer since I’m still at home.”

  Ada Lynn leaned back in her chair, her cloudy eyes critical as they traveled over me.

  “When you gonna wear some clothes that fit ya right and have some color? It’s just the same drab, baggy stuff.”

  My gaze dropped to the cracked sidewalk beneath my sandaled feet for a moment and back to her.

  “Never.” My voice was strong and steady while I held her stare, challenging her to say more. Instead, her brown-eyed gaze softened.

  “All right then. At least you’re not prancing around like a little slut. Some of the girls these days… Well, we just never considered showing our bosoms in such a fashion.” She pursed her lips in dissatisfaction and patted her recently styled gray curls.

  I chewed on my thumbnail and grinned.

  “Can I come up?”

  “You know you don’t have to ask. Come on my blue-eyed girl,” she replied, waving her hand and motioning for me to join her.

  I unhooked the metal gate and strolled up the pitted and cracked walkway. I immediately made my way toward the seat next to her as was our routine.

  Ada Lynn at eighty-three was still mentally sharp. Nothing ever got by her, including me, and before I realized it, she had lifted my shirt and snatched the piece of paper out of my back pocket.

  A heavy sigh escaped me as I plopped down in the chair next to her.

  Ada Lynn scanned the paper, a solemn look on her face. She carefully stuffed it back in the envelope, handed it to me, and took my hand.

  Silence hung in the air between us. I knew a lecture or pep talk was on the way.

  “Saying it won’t change anything, but it’s not your business.” I sighed and leaned my head back against the white rocker.

  “Course it is. You’re my business, Gemma Thompson.”

  Over the last few years, we’d grown close. Ada Lynn didn’t have any children, and I didn’t have any friends, so we were a perfect fit for each other.

  “Someday I won’t be here, so you’ve got to move on—keep going.”

  She wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t heard a million times from her lips. Unfortunately, my parents weren’t as encouraging.

  “I’m trying,” I muttered.

  “Try harder.” Her voice sounded clipped, stern with instruction. “Go to Washington and finish your degree.”

  “Maybe.”

/>   I grew quiet, my mind drifting between the past and the present. Sometimes I dared to dream a little, but then the memories crashed down on me like a tidal wave, crushing me again.

  “This is your chance at a new life. Take it back, girl. Take it back,” she whispered fiercely, squeezing my hand as though she could share her inner strength with me. If it’d been that easy, I would have already left this hellhole.

  An hour passed while Ada Lynn and I sat together in complete silence other than the sounds of the insects coming alive for the evening. The clouds drifted across the sun; a whisper of another day was almost over.

  A little later, a soft snore escaped Ada Lynn and she jumped, waking herself.

  “Shit,” she said softly. “Fell asleep again, didn’t I?”

  “It’s okay. I’m here.” I gave her a gentle smile.

  “I’d better go inside, and you’d better hurry back home before your parents start sniffing around looking for you. Help me in. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She offered a tired smile as I stood and held my hand out to her. If Ada Lynn sat too long, she struggled getting out of a chair on her own, so I always ensured she made it safely into her house.

  I stepped back slowly and took her hand in mine, opened her front door, and helped her inside. Jesus extended his hand toward me, his heart glowing, as he welcomed me into her home from the obnoxious, bulky, plastic picture frame. Her living room never changed. The same bright orange and yellow colored afghan fell across the back of the worn black leather couch. My pulse quickened while Ada Lynn turned toward me. I had a strong suspicion of what she was going to say, and I wasn't sure how I’d handle it.

  “Be brave, Gemma.” The thin, fragile skin of her hand felt like tissue paper as she touched my cheek. “Take the opportunity. I’ll pay for your way out there and help you with some money until you’re all settled. Do this for me, for an old woman with one last wish.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Tears blurred my vision, and I took a deep, shaky breath. I stepped back and attempted the best smile I had left inside me.

  After locking the door behind me, my feet hurried down the porch steps and next door to my house. The yellow paint had dulled over time and was now peeling. My parents hadn’t found the time to change it to a more appealing color. This was the only house I had ever lived in. My entire life, good and bad, was wrapped up in these walls. Something needed to change.

  The screen door clattered closed behind me.

  “Home,” I called out to no one in particular. Mom and Dad were used to my schedule. I kept it like clockwork. Online college, visit next door, online college, sleep, repeat. Unlike the usual teen, I was easy to track and never left home. It wasn’t always like that. Before.

  “In the kitchen, honey,” Mom called.

  I ignored the clutter in the living room, which normally drove me crazy, and strolled toward the inviting smells of dinner.

  “Got the mail.” I plopped the stack on the white Corian countertop.

  “How was your day?” Dad asked from the kitchen table, his work papers spread out in an unorganized mess.

  “Nothing new.” I closed my eyes and inhaled the familiar aroma of fresh crawdads. Comfort.

  Turning toward Dad, I did a quick inventory. He looked tired, too old for his fifty-four years. His full head of gray hair accentuated his silver-blue eyes, and the laugh lines had turned to frown and worry lines. That was all my fault.

  “How’s Ada Lynn?” Mom busied herself with adjusting her red and white checkered apron. Her hand reached up to smooth her brown hair, now streaked with white. I didn’t remember when, exactly, but Mom had long since stopped her fun routines—getting manicures and massages, and having her hair highlighted. Also, my fault. Now she just tied it in a bun and ignored the nicks in her fingernails. Shadows of my past lingered everywhere I looked.

  “Same.”

  Awkward conversations had immersed our home in grief, held us hostage after the year we never spoke about. The year I stopped living and began to merely survive.

  I wandered over to the steaming pot on the stove. The letter in my back pocket crinkled as I leaned over and eyed the potatoes, mushrooms, and corn. My mind whirled with thoughts of the acceptance letter for college in Washington. I'd sent it on an impulse. On one of the rare days I believed I'd be strong enough to have a life again. Louisiana was in my blood. If I left, I’d miss everything about it. Most of all, I’d miss Ada Lynn.

  Although my mind was ready, I wasn’t sure I could force my body out the front door and past the dirty white picket fence. Could my feet carry me past Ada Lynn’s house and to the bus stop? My shoulders tensed at the mere idea. Like I did with everything else that terrified me, I pushed the thought away and busied myself with other things.

  After dinner, I washed the dishes, my mind floating back and forth between the letter from the university and my parents. Even though it had been five years since my world had shattered, the blackness still lingered. A permanent ink stain on my soul.

  My mother’s sudden gasp broke the silence.

  “What?” I asked, drying off the last plate, placing it in the cabinet above my head, and turning toward her.

  “Nothing,” she replied. I didn’t miss her attempt to cover up a piece of paper with her hands.

  Dad’s expression grew grim as he stared at her.

  My spine tingled, and tension claimed the air between us.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m fine,” Mom snapped.

  “I have a paper to write,” I mumbled and tossed the towel on the counter, walking away.

  My bare feet padded lightly across the smooth wood floors as I rounded the corner and stopped, waiting for their conversation to begin.

  “It’s from her,” Mom said in a hushed tone.

  “Again?” Dad asked.

  “Shh, keep your voice down. Gemma can’t know.”

  “Even if she did, we’ve prayed about this, and it isn’t God’s will for her,” Dad stated.

  “Kyle don’t start with me. Where was God when all of this happened?”

  My skin hummed with anxiety. Who were they talking about? What had I missed? The mail? I’d been so distracted by the acceptance letter I hadn’t bothered to look through the rest of it.

  I fiddled nervously with the hem of my T-shirt and waited.

  “My God,” Dad whispered, his voice breaking.

  My chest tightened when I heard my mother quietly crying. I walked back toward my room. It would only be a matter of time before they fell asleep and I could try to find out what had rattled them so much.

  I slipped into my bed and stared at the white walls of my room. Stark white. Nothing. Blank. It’s what my life had become. However, something deep inside me stirred, ready to be free.

  * * *

  The hum of the cicadas filled the otherwise quiet night. I kicked off the sheet, sat up, and placed my bare feet on the floor. Mom and Dad had gone to bed hours ago, but I’d waited. Sometimes Dad woke up and raided the kitchen for a late-night snack, and I didn’t want to get caught rummaging around in his office. It’d been off limits since I was a little kid. I never bothered to ask why, nor did I care, so I stayed out. Until tonight. I’d missed something important in the mail. Important and disturbing enough to make Mom cry and Dad snap at her.

  I tiptoed down the hallway and peered over my shoulder while I slowly opened the door to his office. The hinges creaked, and I stopped abruptly. After a moment, when I was sure I’d not woken them, I slipped into the room, closed the door behind me, and flipped on the lamp sitting on his spacious, cherry wood desk. The tick of the wall clock seemed overtly loud in the stillness. I expelled a long sigh as my gaze traveled around the room, taking in as many details as possible. I wiped my sweaty palms on my sleep shorts and willed myself toward his desk.

  Tugging on the middle drawer, I frowned as it opened. Nothing, it was empty. Pulling on the next one, my frown deepened. Why would Dad have a desk with nothing in it? My hands
traveled down each side, opening all of them. Biting my lip, I continued, but found nothing of any significance. Only a few blank pages of paper and a pen. Was it new and he hadn’t had time to change everything out yet? Was he cleaning?

  My pulse quickened as my focus returned to my parents at the kitchen table. I was desperate to find out what they'd been talking about tonight. My attention caught on the corner of an envelope sticking out from under the large desk calendar. I grabbed it. My eyes drifted across my mother's name and our address, written in a graceful script. The return address indicated the letter was from Washington. Seattle, Washington. My breath hitched in my throat. Who did they know there?

  For the second time in one day, I unfolded a thin white sheet of paper. My forehead creased as a picture fluttered to the floor. I picked the photo up, peeked at the image, and read the back, my mouth gaping open. Cold fingers of fear wrapped themselves around my neck, and I sank into Dad’s office chair. How long had the letters been coming? How long had my parents hidden this from me?

  Dazed, my focus scanned the room. Several boxes were stacked in the corner, hidden in the shadows of darkness. I stood and made my way to them. Each one was marked “Office.” Curious, I attempted to open the top box, but it was taped tightly shut. Damn. Were there more letters in there? Logically, the items from his desk were in the boxes. I just didn’t know why.

  After reading the letter for the third time, I knew that no matter what had happened, it was time to leave. I shoved the letter and picture back into the envelope, folding it small enough I could hide it in the palm of my hand if Mom or Dad caught me walking back to my bedroom.

  Within moments, I was tucked safely back in my bed. My brain refused to shut off. I had some planning to do.

  Chapter 2

  When you have no life, you have even fewer items to pack. My belongings were minimal and consisted of clothes that likely wouldn’t be appropriate for Washington’s weather, along with my toiletries, laptop, and iPhone. Although I only bounced between my house and Ada Lynn’s next door, my parents had bought me a cell phone. Honestly it was a comfort, and I used some of the apps to stay connected with the outside world. Google really was a girl’s best friend and I had to have music. When I was in a full-blown panic attack, it was the only thing that calmed me. With my phone, I’d never had to worry about not having something to listen to.