Jolted (Conflicted Encounters #1) (35 page)

Impacted (Conflicted Encounters 2) - Releasing September 23, 2014

Available
HERE

When a meteor hits the ground, it leaves a crater. The earth is forever impacted from the collision.
 

Everyone has a past. Everyone has a future. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. The aftermath can leave you impacted. Forever changed.
 

Ryder and Kallie's story continues as they struggle to overcome the consequences of the choices they've made.
 

The Last Thing

The Last Thing

By Briana Gaitan

Available
HERE

Chapter One

Quinn

“Don’t leave me, Bash!”

I opened my eyes to the sound of the airline attendant shuffling her way down the aisle.

 
Oh crap, did I just scream that out loud?

 
My hands clutched at my rapidly beating heart, knocking my elbow into the stranger sitting next to me. The little girl scowled and looked up from her tablet.
 

 
“Ouch! What’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry. Just—Just a bad dream,” I told her still struggling to control my breathing. She huffed loudly and set her tablet in her lap before pulling out her earbuds.

“People are staring you know.”
 

That only fueled my anxiety. I leaned forward and rested my head on the seat in front of me.

Pull it together, Quinn. You can do this.

I took a deep slow breath as the flight attendant announced that we were about to land. Within a minute, I calmed down enough to buckle my seatbelt.
 

“You slept the entire trip by the way. We’re almost there.”
 

“No shit,” I mumbled.
How did I get stuck sitting next to a chatterbox?

“Whatever.”

I sighed, I was always cranky when I awoke. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” My apology was half-assed, but this girl couldn’t be any older than ten. What was she doing on a plane all by herself anyway?

“You’re weird.” She went back to playing her game so I turned my attention over to the window. As the plane descended down upon LAX, I wrinkled my nose at the dirty buildings and crowded spaces. This was my first trip to the west coast, but it didn’t look anything like Ginger had described it. What were the words she used? Oh yes, glamor and glitz. No, this place was just smog and buildings. There weren’t many trees, and each house had a uniform fence around it.

My fingers dug into the armrest as the plane landed, I hated confined spaces, which was why I’d taken a large sleeping pill before boarding.
 

I stood up and followed the crowd from the airplane into the busy airport.

“Welcome to Los Angeles ma’am,” a smiling attendant said to me.

“Thanks.”

California, the land that promised me change. Well it didn’t look special. Just different.

 
“Someone supposed to pick you up?” asked a voice. I looked over to see the little girl from the plane plop down in a chair. She looked over at me with one eyebrow raised in question.

“Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to talk to strangers?”

“I would hardly call you a stranger. I sat next to you for six hours and listened to you snore and drool on the window.”

“I didn’t drool.” Horrified, I put my hand over my mouth.

“You drooled, and you kept whispering someone’s name. Bash?”

My heart crashed into my stomach at the mention of his name. As if perfectly trained, I didn’t flinch. The fake smile remained displayed as normal.

“Are you traveling alone?” I asked, anxious to get this little girl out of my hair. I put my hands on my hips like an overly concerned adult.

“I just came back from visiting my grandparents; my driver will be here soon. This isn’t my first plane trip you know. You, on the other hand, look like this is your first trip to Oz.”

“Oz?”

“Oz. Like Dorothy from
The Wizard of Oz.
You’re not in Kansas anymore
.”

“I know what Oz is, but what makes you say that?”

“You look all wholesome and good. Just look at that braid. It screams country girl, like you just fell out of a tornado.”

I insecurely tugged at my brown hair. Why did I care what a ten-year-old thought?

“Trust me….” I began, but paused when I realized I didn’t even know her name.

“Jenna.”

“I’m Quinn, by the way. Just so you know, Jenna, there is nothing wholesome or good about me.”

“Yeah right. I bet you were a cheerleader, on the homecoming court, and dated the same guy all through school.” She batted her eyes at me.

Was it that obvious?

“You’re pretty insightful.” I admitted. “Do you always talk like this?”

“Pretty much. My mom says I talk too much.”

I rolled my eyes at her. I bet she did.

“Are you here visiting your boyfriend or are you one of those cliché girls trying to become an actress?”

“Neither. No boyfriend, but I did move here to live with my cousin who, by the way, is one of those cliché girls trying to make it big as an actress.”

“Sweet! Has she been in anything good?”

“She stars in a soap opera.”

Jenna made a face. “Gross. I hate those shows.”

I laughed at her expression. “You and I both, kid.”

“So…do you have a boyfriend?”

“Nope, there’s more to life than boys.”

“I’m almost eleven; all I think about are boys. I bet your life is going to be so glamorous here.”

Think again, little girl.
 

She was so wrong. Life wasn’t rainbows and sunshine. The sooner she learned that, the better.

“Jenna?” A man in a black suit appeared from beside us.

“That’s me.” Jenna hopped out of her seat and grabbed her backpack, which donned pictures of some cartoon character.

“Nice to meet you, Jenna.”

“You too, Quinn. I hope you find a boyfriend and your cousin gets a better job.”

I gave her a friendly wave goodbye. A boyfriend? I didn’t want nor need a boyfriend.

 
I grabbed my rolling suitcase and pulled it behind me. Walking through large crowds always made me anxious, but I sucked it up and looked for Ginger. We had agreed to meet outside, but this place was so huge I wasn’t sure how I would ever find my way out.
 

Ginger had been living in Los Angeles since we graduated from high school two years ago, and had recently gotten her big break. She was the one who’d come up with the great idea for me to stay with her. That is how I’d found myself here in LA, over two-thousand miles away from Tennessee.

Spotting Ginger among the blur of people was easy. She stood right outside the exit, next to a sleek black limo. She waved as soon as I came in view. Her long, sleek hair fell down her back. Its bright red color was her calling card, and how she’d gotten her nickname. From the moment she was born, everyone had taken to calling her Ginger; I don’t think anyone even remembered her real name. I sure didn’t. She wore a khaki trench coat, tied loosely around her thin frame. A pair of white oversized sunglasses covered her face. She widened her perfectly blood red lips into an enthusiastic smile as I walked closer.

She closed the last few feet between us by rushing up to me and wrapping her arms around my neck.
 

“Quinn, I’ve missed you. Look at you! You’ve lost weight,” she said while taking a step back to study me.

“Yep, and it looks like your boobs have gained weight,” I joked.
 

“Thanks for noticing.” She proudly stuck her chest out to display her new implants. Ginger sounded odd. It took me a moment to pinpoint the change.

“Your accent is gone.”

“Good. It took me months to get rid of that awful twang.”

A few fans stopped to point at Ginger as her driver loaded my suitcase.
 

“People are staring.” I whispered.

“Just ignore them. So how was your trip?”
 

“I slept the entire time so it was uneventful.”

“Good because you’re gonna need all that energy.”
 

Ginger pushed me into the limo while talking a mile a minute. Something about exciting plans for us this week, but I wasn’t paying attention. Sure, she’d invited me to stay with her, but she only felt sorry for me. I was Quinn, the local murderer. They had all but run me out of town.

When we arrived at the house, Ginger made (and by made I mean ordered) us dinner. Her housekeeper unpacked my bags while Ginger took me on a tour of her Spanish- style home. There were four bedrooms and four bathrooms, all with grand circular archways and white carpeting. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined living in such a large home. Back home, I lived in the apartment above my mom’s garage. On a tour of the backyard, Ginger showed me a breathtaking view of the city lights and a small rectangular pool. She had a large well-used BBQ grill and a fire pit with seating for about a dozen.

“Guess what?” Ginger asked after the tour was finished. By this time, we’d moved upstairs to enjoy the view from my bed. “We are going to a party on Saturday night.”
 

“Do we have to? I have a ton of other things to do. I need to find a job and pick up…toothpaste.” I panicked trying to think of an excuse.
Toothpaste? How lame
. I didn’t feel like meeting anyone new. Ginger looked down at me with her bright blue eyes and pouted.

“Did you really just suggest buying toothpaste over attending a Hollywood mixer?”

“Yes, yes I did.” I confidently crossed my arms in front of my chest.

“Come on, Quinn. You deserve some fun, please?” She placed her hands in front of her in a pleading pose and stuck out one Botox-filled lower lip. I wanted to say no, but offending the woman who opened up her home to me felt wrong. I tried to think of a more plausible excuse.
I have to wash my hair, perhaps? That is stupid. What if I tell her I have jet lag? No, there is only a two-hour time difference. She’ll never buy it.
 

 
If I wanted a fresh start, I needed to be doing normal things, right? I could imagine my psychiatrist’s response in my head.
You need to stop beating yourself up and let go. Have a bit of fun.
 

“Fine, one party, but I’m not staying out late,” I said after a few moments of consideration. She squealed loudly and began to jump up and down.
 

I was used to her dramatics. Maybe Ginger hadn’t changed that much. I fell back on the bed and stared up at the vaulted ceilings. Ginger and I’d grown up together and always spent our summers at each other’s homes. When she left for Los Angeles, I ‘d stayed at home with my high school sweetheart. Bash had been the love of my life since we were in Jr. High. We were going to be together forever; but nothing had worked out that way. I didn’t get the life I had planned. Ginger snapped her fingers in front of my face and interrupted my thoughts.

“You’re doing it again, come back to me…Quinn!” she said with a serious expression on her face. She had been snapping her fingers at me all night, not allowing me to think about the accident. Surprisingly, it was working. She was keeping me from the hate and anger that bubbled inside. In one day, she had already helped me stay focused on the future, not the past. My psychiatrist had tried to convince me otherwise, but a change of scenery was just the thing I needed.
 

“Honey, you need some serious work done before tomorrow. I can’t take a hillbilly to a Jo Gillian party,” Ginger complained. She started pulling on my long hair in an attempt to fix the mess into an elaborate up-do.

“Did you just call me a hillbilly?”
 

“Yes, what happened to you? When I left, you were on your way to becoming a world-renowned makeup artist. Now look at you, all plain-faced and wearing jeans.”

“I prefer comfort now.”

“You prefer blending in.”

I need to change the topic.
 

“And a Gillian party? Seriously? I’ve heard about her.” A regular party was bad enough, but Ginger was dragging me to a Jo Gillian party. The girl was a famous socialite and actress known for throwing wild parties and being on the cover of all the tabloids. She had her own reality TV show, and cameras followed her wherever she went.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ginger insisted, “but her parties aren’t as bad as the tabloids make them out to be. No drugs, I swear.” She held up a perfectly manicured hand, two fingers up, like the Boy Scout’s sign. I couldn’t believe that I was actually about to agree to this; last week my weekends consisted of locking myself in my room with a TV dinner and a book. Now I was going to an A-list socialite party. I nodded in surrender, if only to shut her up. Ginger squealed loudly and wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. I promised myself that I would try to be normal. Going to a party would be my first step.

“So tell me, what has been happening back home?” she asked.

I shrugged. “It’s still the same ole.”

“Aunt Brooke and Uncle Joe?”