Hope for Her (Hope #1)
Read Hope for Her (Hope #1) Online
Authors: Sydney Aaliyah Michelle
HOPE FOR HER
(Hope Series Book #1)
by
Sydney Aaliyah Michelle
Copyright© Sydney Aaliyah Michelle 2014
All rights reserved
Published by SAM & Associates, LLC
Cover design © Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs
Editing by Jenny Sims
No part of this publication may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photography, recording or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written consent from the publisher and author, except in the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be uploaded without the permission of the publisher and author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is originally published.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to person, living or dead or places,
actual events or locales are purely coincidental.
The characters and names are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
The publisher and author acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.
Dedication
To all the hard working authors (Self Published, Hybrid & Traditional Published)
out there and the readers who support them.
Table of Contents
Preview of Hope for Him (Hope Series Book #2)
More Books from Sydney Aaliyah Michelle
Chapter One
Joshua Elijah Griffin, IV
I stood on these same fraternity house steps fifteen years ago and pledged my allegiance to the Florida State Seminole Nation. I was four years old. All these years later, I craved the innocence of that four-year-old, because walking into my fraternity house after the way I screwed up was not an easy task.
I dragged my overstuffed bag up the steps, praying I wouldn't see anyone.
With each step toward the door, the weight of my family, my name, and my father's influence pressed on me. I half expected my father's six-foot-two frame to be standing behind me, pushing me into the life he expected for me.
"This is your legacy, my boy," he would say. I would nod and tune him out; I’d heard this speech a million times before.
His influence stained the floorboards; his shadow loomed. He probably haunted the place.
"Joshua Elijah Griffin the fourth."
Oh, shit. Dad?
I stopped in my tracks and looked up to see Jackson Latre Mitchell, my oldest friend, standing in the doorframe. A wave of relief washed over me. We’d been friends since the fourth grade.
"Hey buddy,” he said and chuckled as he approached and hugged my torso.
His bear hug cut off the circulation in my arms, and I dropped my bag at my feet. As the leader and quarterback of the FSU football team, he personified the all-American football player. He stood six-foot-four and was listed at two hundred and twenty pounds. I looked like a twelve-year-old kid standing next to him.
Jackson and I met on the first day of fourth grade at Brentmore Academy, a private school in Orlando, Florida. I had attended Brentmore since preschool, so I was given the task of showing our newest recruit around campus. I insulted him for being a former public school kid, he insulted me for my lame insult, and from that moment on, we stuck up for each other. Everyone was surprised we became such good friends; we had nothing in common.
I shied away from my family's expectations, but Jackson thrived on his. His father played professional football for twelve years; they moved to Orlando when he retired. As we got older, Jackson’s journey put him on the path to the NFL, like his father, but I had jumped off the path of my father’s destiny a long time ago.
"Welcome to FSU," he said. “And, PKP.”
Phi Kappa Pi house, the proverbial and literal center of Greek life at FSU, sat in the middle of the block of fraternity row. Phi Kappa Pi, or PKP as we called it, recruited the wealthiest and most prestigious, but not necessarily the smartest, male students on campus.
As the oldest fraternity in the nation, we wore history and heritage like a badge of honor and relied on that badge to get ahead or get away with stuff, depending on how you looked at it.
I stood next to Jackson looking up and down the street. The exterior of our house, like most on the street, looked like an old Victorian mansion with an ornate front door, white columns, painted shutters, and manicured lawn—rich, opulent, and impressive. Pleasant place to raise a family, if you ignored the horny college frat boys running around with too much money and too much time on their hands.
If people witnessed what went on behind the shutters, they would be disgusted—our parents would be ashamed. But they created most of the current Phi Kappa Pi rituals and excused the debauchery by calling it tradition—my father and grandfather included.
I found the whole thing silly, brotherhood and unity, but I had no choice. I was a legacy. PKP chose me.
My family arrived in Florida around the time the United States acquired it from Spain. The Griffin’s stepped off the boat and bought everything they got their hands on.
Their wealth afforded them a certain level of royalty-like status. As Joshua Elijah Griffin IV, my name carried with it a level of expectation. I started to rebel early against those expectations, but it never worked. My name, time and time again, saved me and put me back on track.
"Come on in. I'll show you around," Jackson said.
I followed Jackson through the front door, and nostalgia hit my brain while nausea clinched my insides.
Why am I always following him?
"This place even smells the same," I said.
The brown leather couches, overstuffed chairs, and dark wood tables gave the place a staged hunting lodge GQ cover feel.
Jackson began his speech.
"We hold meetings in the theater every Sunday night. It's mandatory," Jackson said. I stared at him. “What?”
"J, man, I know. I've been PKP even before I was born."
"Sorry, man. Habit, I guess." Jackson sat down running his hand over his cropped brown hair—a nervous habit from since we were kids. "You sure you're up for this?"
My eyes narrowed and I gnawed on my thumbnail. I knew what he meant but waited for him to say it out loud.
"You got out of rehab like a week ago," he said. "You sure your ready to be back on a college campus. Not worried about temptations?"
"What temptations?" I asked.
"I don't know. I mean this is a frat house. We drink, and we party hard. Maybe pledges from FU do it different."
"Yeah, FU's PKPs snort pixie dust and sit in a smokehouse in the backyard singing old Negro spirituals."
His smirk made me feel better. Getting shit from Jackson felt like the old days.
In a bitter failed attempted at getting out of my family's—and when I say family, I mean my father's—shadow, I applied and was accepted into University of Florida. It might not sound like a big deal, but it was a huge detour from the status quo. My great-great-grandmother graduated with the first graduating class at Florida State University in 1901. Since then, at least one Griffin graduated from FSU every decade, sometimes two or three. My great-grandfather went to FSU, my grandfather, too. My father, my mother, and both of my sisters—they all went to FSU.
When I told my family my plans to attend the University of Florida, hundreds of Griffins rolled over in their graves.
When it came to Florida State versus University of Florida, we weren’t talking ordinary college rivalry stuff, either. FSU students refer to the University of Florida as FU, instead of U of F, as in ‘fuck you if you go to the University of Florida’.
The north versus the south, US versus England, North versus South Korea, insignificant compared to the Florida State versus Florida rivalry. If a Chinese person married a Japanese person, the Japanese family would disown their child. If an FSU student married a U of F student, the families would disown them both.
I collapsed into the nearest leather chair. "Hey, but, we're all brothers. No matter where I pledged, right?"
I stared at him, waiting for his answer.
"We are brothers." Jackson said and nodded. He stood up. I followed and relaxed knowing he meant more than our fraternity connection. I missed my oldest friend.
We headed up the curved stairs; the house was empty this time of day. I would meet the others soon enough.
"This is you. I'm next door."
I peered into the room and surveyed my surroundings. The room looked like a non descript hotel room with a queen-size bed and two nightstands in the same oak as downstairs. A small sitting area with a couch and two chairs was situated in the corner near the window. The rich garnet comforter, with its gold accents, reminded me of my childhood bedroom, including the family portrait sitting on the nightstand. I walked straight for it and put it in a drawer.
"Natalie sent this stuff up last week with detailed instructions, including a sketch for reference." Natalie Palmer was the latest twenty-something blond-haired, blue-eyed idiot vying for her turn as the next Mrs. Griffin. I dropped down on the bed.
"What are the guys saying?" I asked as I rubbed a hand across my forehead.
"The guys are happy you finally came to your senses." Jackson leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.
"You're a terrible liar, Jackson."
"It will take some time, but the guys will come around. It's not like you're the first brother who did something stupid."
"Yes, but I did something stupid as an FU student."
"As if being an FU student wasn't stupid enough," Jackson said and laughed.
