Take Your Time (Fate and Circumstance #2) Read online

  Take Your Time

  © Leddy Harper

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design by

  Kim Black at TOJ Publishing

  www.tojpublishing.com

  Editing by

  Josie Cruz

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  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, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  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

  More Than Anything prologue

  Leddy’s Notes

  Acknowledgments

  More from Leddy

  For Sarah Nickles…

  “It takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, and a day to love them, but it takes a lifetime to forget them.” –Anonymous

  It was Christmas morning, my favorite day of the year. The house buzzed with excitement as everyone began to show up, filling the rooms with laughter and joy. The only person missing was Mom. I knew I’d find her in the kitchen, preparing for the big holiday, and I wanted nothing more than to help her like I did every year. I found her leaning against the counter with her head cradled in her hands.

  “Everything all right, Mom?” I asked, walking cautiously toward her.

  She straightened, holding herself up at the sink, and plastered a smile on her face. However, the dimness behind her normally bright eyes alerted me to the pain she tried to hide. I knew right away that her migraines were back. They’d plagued her for years, nearly crippling her at times. But she was on a regular Botox injection treatment plan to keep them away.

  “When are you due for more shots?” I asked, grabbing a dishtowel and wetting it with cold water for her forehead.

  “Not until next month.”

  “That’s weird. You don’t normally get them this bad before treatment, do you?”

  She took the rag from my hand, pressed it against her cheeks, and then dabbed it down her neck. “No. It came on this morning. Out of nowhere.”

  “Did you take anything?”

  She nodded. Clearly, the pain was too intense for her to speak.

  “Go lay down, Mom. Don’t worry about lunch. I’ll take care of it for you.”

  “Sarah, we have guests. I shouldn’t—”

  “Mom,” I said sternly, using her motherly tone against her. “Don’t worry about them. Axel’s mom is with his sister’s little boy, the girls are entertaining each other in Ayla’s playroom, the women are chatting about weddings, and the men are discussing ways to keep their women happy. No one will mind if you go lay down for a little bit. I promise, I have everything under control.”

  “I’ve trained you well, Sarah. One day, this holiday will be all yours.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She waved me off and moved out of the kitchen. “Just that one day, this family might need someone to step in and take care of the food and decorations and make sure everything is planned to perfection. And you’re the perfect person for the job. It’s the natural progression of things.”

  “Stop talking like that, Mom. Go lay down.” I watched her walk back to her room as I finished with kitchen duty, reminiscing about the holidays in the past.

  No matter how old I’d gotten, Christmas still made me feel like a child again. From the moment the first decoration went on sale at the local gardening store, or the first house that put up lights, I became giddy and it filled me with excitement and joy. That one day held the power to bring back memories of my childhood, growing up, and the traditions we continued every year no matter how much our lives had changed. And boy, did they change.

  My real dad had passed away when I was three. My sister, Clarissa, was only one. As much as I wished I could remember him, at least I didn’t have to live with the grief of losing a parent. It’s shallow to say, sure, but nothing could be worse than being reminded of someone you loved unconditionally and realizing you’d never get those moments back. You’d never be able to apologize for hurtful words, or say thank you for things you might’ve once taken for granted. My dad got to experience the utter, complete, and honest love from his daughters before passing on. I just always felt bad for my mother. But she had a way of making things better for us.

  For as long as I could remember, we had a Christmas tradition. Instead of buying gifts for each other, we’d make them, and then stick them under the tree without names on the tags. It was our own version of Secret Santa. The gifts from Clari—my sister—and me were pretty much garbage, but my mom’s eyes would light up and she’d ooh and ahh over every present she’d open. Mom loved to paint, so we always got canvases with beautiful scenes on them. We’d hang them in our rooms along with the previous years’ portraits, and make sure we always left room for new ones.

  I was thirteen when my mom remarried; Clari was almost eleven. Wayne was the first guy Mom ever brought home, and we loved him from the very first time we met him. He made her happy, which made us happy. And even better, he loved our holiday tradition and insisted we kept it. Now, looking back on it, instead of loving the Secret Santa idea, the decision probably had more to do with the fact that we didn’t have much money, but I didn’t care. It didn’t matter what the reasons were, I only cared about picking which wrapped gift I wanted. After a few years, Wayne had been offered a better-paying job, and Mom got the promotion she’d been after for a long time. Money was no longer an issue in our family, but it never changed the tradition of Christmas morning.

  The summer after I graduated high school, our family changed again. Wayne’s daughter, Aubrey, came to live with us. I’d never met her before, though I’d always known about her. The only times I’d ever heard Mom and Wayne fight were after his phone calls to her. I never understood what they were about until she came to live with us. We hit it off from the very beginning, and were so close that we decided to become roommates after she graduated from high school the following summer. But still, even when Aubrey joined our household, our Christmas tradition remained.

  I always loved Aubrey’s gifts. She had an amazing talent when it came to woodwork. And after my mom taught her how to paint, her gifts became even more amazing. Clari and I always fought over who’d get Bree’s gifts, and eventually, she just started making two of each. By the second Christmas with Aubrey, our lives changed once more. She had a little girl, McKayla, who brightened our days with her
white hair and ocean-colored eyes. Her laugh was infectious, and she had everyone wrapped around her little finger. She was the only person in the family that received store-bought presents at Christmastime. Lots and lots of store-bought presents.

  A few months ago, McKayla’s father came back into the picture. I’d known about him from the very beginning, but it was something Aubrey had sworn me to keep secret—she’d kept it hidden from everyone except me. There was a lot of controversy surrounding her relationship with him. Yet they ended up working everything out and became the kind of family anyone would be envious of. Hell, just witnessing the way he looked at her made anyone in the room jealous. I was happy for them both, and happy that Ayla finally had her daddy in her life. With Christmas coming up, and plans being made for his entire family to join ours for the holiday, we had a family meeting to discuss presents and preparations. I worried that our tradition would be over, though surprisingly, it was a unanimous decision to keep it alive. Even Axel was on board.

  So bright and early that morning, I headed over to my parents’ house, getting ready to help my mom with Christmas preparations like I did every year. Nerves hit me about meeting new people, although I stuffed them down with a smile on my face.

  The first Christmas miracle came when Aubrey and Axel arrived. He’d proposed to her the night before and she said yes. I really thought Wayne, or Dad as I oftentimes called him, would’ve been upset over the news—like he had when he learned that Axel had fathered McKayla. But he wasn’t at all angry. In fact, he didn’t even seem surprised by it. I later learned that Axel had done the right thing by seeking Wayne’s permission beforehand. I would be asking Santa for an Axel clone to be delivered next Christmas.

  Once his family arrived, the house became rather chaotic. Aubrey and Clari talked wedding plans since Clari had just gotten married a few months ago. McKayla played with Axel’s niece. And you couldn’t get a word in edgewise around Wayne and Axel’s father. I knew I wouldn’t miss much by taking over in the kitchen for my mom.

  After I finished getting everything ready for lunch, I called the family together for prayer. We decided to eat first, and then open presents while letting the food settle. Figuring my mom would probably want to eat with the rest of us, I headed back to her room to wake her, hoping she felt somewhat better.

  The bedroom was completely dark since Wayne had installed blackout curtains years ago due to my mom’s intense migraines. I found her bundled up in the middle of the bed with the blankets wrapped tightly around her. So I climbed in beside her, snuggling up to her for a moment of peace.

  I moved in closer, expecting her to wake up from my movements, but she didn’t. I called out to her, quietly at first, and then louder. She didn't answer. I shook her, but she didn’t budge. I gulped down my breaths, my body shaking from the inside out as fear embedded itself in me. My gaze frantically searched the dark room, even though I had no idea what I tried to find. Finally, tears flooded my eyes, cascading down my cheeks as my shrill voice called out for help. I didn’t care who heard me. I just needed someone to come. I needed someone to save my mom.

  That day, my life changed again.

  Only this time, it wasn’t for the better.

  And Christmas was no longer my favorite day of the year.

  Sarah

  Five months later—beginning of June

  The man sitting next to me was decent looking, but that wasn’t why I’d chosen him. The swagger he had walking into the bar was all that interested me. I knew why he’d come here, what his end goal was. And it just so happened to be mine, as well. No need to pretend otherwise.

  Tonight was no different than any other Saturday night for me. The same routine I’d kept for the last three and a half months. The only thing that changed was the men—and occasionally, the location for obvious reasons. I never wanted the same man twice, no one ever being worth the trouble of repeats.

  “What are you drinkin’?” he asked, his southern twang heavier than the wooden stools we sat on.

  I lifted my glass and swirled it around, smiling at him through the side of my mouth. My stomach fluttered as I licked my lips and briefly glanced away from him. “Don’t worry about it, cowboy. I can take care of my own drinks.” I knew what men wanted to hear—I’d practiced it enough. Keep it light to show playfulness, give nicknames to exhibit friendliness, and always remain somewhat secretive to keep their interest.

  He turned his head, nodded at the bartender—the universal signal to order a drink—and then turned his attention back to me. Tilting his cowboy hat away from his face, he said, “My name’s Justin. What’s yours?”

  “Colby.” I knew better than to give out my real name. It didn’t matter that we lived in a small town and I’d probably get called out on my lie one of these days, but I had zero desire to have anyone know my business—including my name. I didn’t care what he called me while he fucked me later, or the name he’d use when recalling his night to his buddies tomorrow.

  Justin propped himself up on the bar with his elbow and leaned toward me, encroaching in my personal space. I’d be lying if I said the grin that stretched across his face didn’t slightly creep me out, but I pushed it down and raised a brow at him.

  “You here all by yourself?”

  I traced the lines of wood on the top of the bar with a manicured nail, giving him the impression that I was shy. I knew how much men liked the shy ones, the girls who appeared to be vulnerable, so I did everything I could to give him that impression of me. “I was supposed to meet my friend, but she hasn’t shown up yet. I’m about to give up waiting and just leave.” That line worked every time. It never got old.

  “Oh, yeah? And where do you plan to go when you leave?”

  My eyebrows twitched with the urge to wiggle, and my cheeks burned with the need to release the wide grin I held back, but I knew I had to reign in my amusement if I wanted to keep up the charade. Instead, I smirked, knowing I had him exactly where I wanted. “Not sure, maybe home. Unless you have a better suggestion…”

  A tumbler filled with amber liquid was set in front of him. It came at the perfect time. The barstool creaked in protest as Justin leaned away a bit to take his drink. I studied him carefully as he pulled the small glass to his lips and sipped it before taking a heavy gulp. That one act was enough to assume he planned to get drunk. Fine by me. Just as long as he could still get it up. I’d been down that road before—wasting a night on a guy with whiskey dick—and didn’t care for a repeat.

  I touched his arm; the light-colored hairs were somewhat coarse and tickled my palm as I slowly ran my fingers down his heated skin to the top of his hand. “Slow down. We have all night.” If there’s one thing I’d learned over the last few months of picking up men in bars, it’s the correlation between how fast a man drinks and how fast he fucks. I didn’t want an all-nighter, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to enjoy it, either.

  “Maybe you just need to catch up.” He licked the liquid from lips and leisurely trailed his gaze down my body. The way his tongue peeked out past his thin lips left a bitter tang in my mouth and a burning sensation in my throat. I began to doubt myself, wondering if maybe I’d been too desperate and chose the wrong guy, but I quickly pushed that thought away. After all, it was only sex.

  The rest of him was very nice, though. He was tall, had a strong build and muscular arms that filled out his sleeves well. His face was decent, no distinguishing features that turned me off, other than his mouth. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about it, but figured it must’ve been a combination of his ultra-fine lips and lack of Cupid’s bow. I simply passed my nitpicking off as being an unusual night for me, and decided to keep my attention on his better features.

  I went back to my drink, pulling in gulps of the cold, carbonated liquid through the straw, and relaxed as the icy burn filled my empty stomach.

  “Would you like to dance?” I heard him ask. I turned to glance at the dance floor in the back of the bar, catching a
glimpse of the crowd moving in unison to a familiar country song blaring through the speakers, kicking, twirling, and laughing.

  “No thanks. I don’t dance.” I didn’t go to bars to do the honky-tonk.

  “Then what do you do?” His voice turned deep, almost needy, as he spoke inches from my ear. The heat of his breath washed over my bare shoulder and left behind chill bumps—the good kind that caused my nipples to harden beneath the thin lining of my bra.

  I quickly finished the rest of my drink, needing to cool off before tilting my head in his direction. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” We were so close, his body heat covered one side of me like a furnace in the winter, and his spicy cologne tickled the tiny hairs in my nose, nearly inducing a sneeze.

  The air around me grew stifling as he placed one hand on my back and leaned closer, bringing his mouth to the side of my face. The tip of his nose grazed the edge of my ear as his deep, husky voice filled it. “As a matter of fact, I’d love nothing more than to see what you can do.”

  I became at odds with myself. On one hand, I had a good-looking guy that would no doubt fuck me tonight. On the other, I couldn’t seem to get over his heavy cologne that threatened to choke me. I, again, questioned my choice of men for the night.

  Before I could respond to Justin’s insinuating statement, someone nudged my shoulder on the other side of me. I turned away from Justin, ready to verbally assault whoever had decided to rudely interrupt me. But what I found stole the air from my lungs, the words from my tongue, and the thoughts from my brain. Perched on the stool next to me was the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on—and I’d seen a lot over the past few months.

  “What are you drinking?” he asked, his baritone voice washing out the music around us. It commanded my attention, causing me to ignore all other noise around me, and filled my head with a heavy fog that prevented me from thinking straight. I became lost in his voice, the fullness of his lips, and the deep Cupid’s bow perfectly centered beneath his nose.