Young Lies (Young Series Book 1)
Read Young Lies (Young Series Book 1) Online
Authors: W.R. Kimble
© W.R. Kimble, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. This book is a work of fiction, and any similarities to real persons or events is unintended.
Many very special thanks to CJ, Sue, Julia, Kerry, Annette, Cat, Vicki, and all the girls in the group for the never-ending support, encouragement, and sometimes much needed laughs. This book would not exist if not for you, even though I know some of you are only in it for the bus ride... Now let’s get back to talking about goats.
I’m being followed.
For nearly a week now I’ve had this feeling of being watched from a distance and no matter where I go or who I’m with, I never lose it. While most people would be concerned about the implications, I know better. The people following me have no intention of harming me or my family and are probably merely staking out my surroundings for the next big move.
It’s strange. I haven’t felt this way in nearly five years—the knowledge of being followed is oddly comforting to me despite knowing that something terrible must have happened to trigger it. I haven’t mentioned my feelings to Tom or anybody else; they wouldn’t understand and their first instinct, probably rightly so, would be to call the authorities.
I walk calmly down the street from my office to grab lunch at a small café, mixing in with a large crowd that barely fits inside the building and wait my turn to place my order. As I wait, my eyes dart out the all-glass front to where a black SUV has pulled up across the street. I know exactly who is sitting in the driver’s seat behind the tinted window and I smile a bit at the thought. Worry is attempting to creep into my body and I’m using every ounce of strength I possess to suppress it. For all I know, this could be a simple matter that can be solved with one conversation and that would be the end of it. Deep down, though, I know it isn’t a simple matter. It’s something I won’t want to face, something I haven’t faced in so long that I think I’ve forgotten
how
to face it.
Suddenly I want nothing more than to ditch my would-be stalker and hide out in the safety of my own home. This wouldn’t help matters, of course; I would be found in a matter of minutes and the trouble will have been brought to my doorstep, something I cannot allow.
In the five years that I’ve managed to separate myself from my old life, I’ve found normalcy. Perhaps not normalcy by most peoples’ standards, but my own normalcy that allows me to fall asleep at night without fear. And that was the most important aspect of leaving that old life: the desperation to live without fear. I knew I would never fully escape it, that at some point it would rear its ugly head again and find me.
Now I’m worried. The agreement had been to let me live my life quietly, anonymously without the fear of my past returning to haunt me. He told me he would not interfere unless it became absolutely necessary. We managed to stick to our agreement, despite my moments of longing to see him, and never met, even when it came to our son. If something has happened to make him break the agreement and send his security team all the way out here just to follow me from home to my office to the school and back again, I’m not sure I even want to be aware of it.
Twenty minutes later, I’m returning to my office, white paper bag containing my turkey sandwich lunch in hand. With every step I take, I’m becoming more and more aware of the car following me. Any time I glance out of the corner of my eye, it’s there and it occurs to me they’re not even trying to hide their presence. Before I walk through the revolving doors of my building, I turn around, my eyes locking on the SUV to let them know I know they’re here, then return to my day.
-------------o-------------
When I was nineteen, I fell in love. Having grown up in a tiny one-horse Iowa farming town, I never really had the chance to see what the outside world had to offer. Where I came from, everybody knew everybody and there were never any secrets. This was why I was so desperate to leave after graduation. For most of my school career, I was an above average student with offers from the most prestigious schools in the country for scholarships. It wasn’t until Mom got sick during my senior year that my education became the least of my concerns. The more her health declined, the more my grades dropped until eventually every college I’d applied to retracted their offers. What was more, I didn’t even care. My family needed me and I’d be damned if I let them suffer just so I could run up student loans in a different corner of the country.
After graduation, I got a job at a local diner working as a waitress. For a while I was able to ignore the fact that every single patron of the diner was somebody I’d known my entire life and therefore they knew my exact reasons for being there. I tried to ignore the inflated tips they would leave me—their way of helping out a family who refused to accept charity.
It wasn’t until
he
walked through the front doors of the diner that I ever considered something more for myself.
The boys I grew up with were farm boys. Their mornings spent milking cows, tending to the horses, gathering crops when it was that time of year. They were all big and burly, wore cowboy boots and flannel shirts, and for the most part, acted like the typical Midwest gentlemen they were raised to become. Some played football with the hopes of attracting college recruiters; some resigned themselves to taking over the family farm. Others dreamed of just escaping and it didn’t matter where they went. Only one or two of the kids I graduated alongside actually made it out of here. I should have been one of them.
Throughout my teenage years, I didn’t date all that much. In a town like the one where I was born and raised if you locked yourself in your bedroom on a Saturday night with books and essays rather than joining the other kids as they trekked ten miles just to check out the drive-in, boys didn’t have much interest. That’s not to say I didn’t date once in a while; it’s just none of the boys I dated were interested in a girl who didn’t put out.
There wasn’t much to do in my town. Work, study, drinking, and sex were about the extent of it. I was only ever interested in the former two, much to the relief of my parents. My best friend since the time I was in diapers was Tom Saunders whose family owned the farm beside my family’s. Our parents worked together often, helping one another when help was needed. Tom was the youngest of four boys and was often teased for being the runt of the litter. Compared to the other Saunders boys, he truly was the runt. He didn’t have the muscles of the other boys, nor the drive to prove himself. He
a lot like me, actually; preferred to stuff his nose into a book rather than head to the state fair or play sports.
From an outside view, Tom and I were the perfect match. There wasn’t anything we didn’t know about one another and we were stuck to one another like glue anytime we ventured out. He was my date to prom. He was the first person to see me after Mom died. He was the person who helped me pull myself through what had been the most terrible ordeal of my life
up to that point. And later, when I was surrounded by the shattered remains of the life I chose above him, he was there to pick up the pieces. I never had a doubt of his feelings for me. The problem was that I didn’t reciprocate the way I thought I should have and as a result, I allowed myself to be taken away from the person who knew be best, who kept me safe, who loved me unconditionally.
I still remember the day my life changed from the monotonous routine I’d found myself living since Mom’s death like it was yesterday. I’d been working the dinner shift at the diner when an unfamiliar car pulled into the lot. Immediately it attracted the attention of everyone in town. Most of the vehicles we were used to were aged twenty years and in the pickup truck line. This one was sleek, shiny, and new, and we all practically stood at the windows staring with wide eyes as it parked. Doris finally snapped us out of our stupor and we returned to our jobs or meals, but even she was glancing out the corner of her eye as the doors opened.
That was my first sighting of him. He was nothing like what I had seen before and I knew even then I’d never see anything like him again. Tall, dark messy hair, clothes that were quite obviously not purchased at the Wal-Mart in the next town over like the clothes I wore, and a persona that seemed to scream that he owned the world. He didn’t own quite the whole world at that point, but I sure as hell didn’t know that.
The moment he walked in through the door with his driver, even Doris couldn’t take her eyes off him. He didn’t seem bothered with the staring—which, of course, he wasn’t—and actually had an amused little smirk on his face as he placed his designer sunglasses on top of his head as he surveyed what I knew to be about a quarter of my town
’s population.
After what felt like
ages Midwest manners kicked in and we all went about our business, whatever that might have been, and pretended the strangers hadn’t entered the diner at all. Well, all of us except me, since the only open table in the place was on my side. I wasn’t ever the type to be intimidated by good looks. In my experience, the better you look the worse your personality. Not a fair assessment of the population, but I couldn’t help that. I grabbed a pair of menus and strode over to the strangers, determined to take their orders, deliver their meals, and not think another thought about either of them after tonight.
That determination lasted until
he
gave me a smile. At that point, I was lost and it would be three years before I found my way again.
-------------o-------------
Over the next couple days, I was on my guard. I tried not to seem too paranoid, but wherever I went, I was looking behind me. The cars continued to follow me and the only time I felt myself panic was when I seemed to have lost them. I still never mentioned my thoughts or feelings to Tom—if he didn’t believe I was being paranoid, he’d be angry that my past had returned once again and would undoubtedly overreact.
Since I returned home five years ago, Tom has managed to pick up all the pieces of my shattered existence, accepted everything that came along with me, and helped me start anew. Unlike my father and siblings, he never said
I told you so
, even though he of all people had every right to do so. Now we’re living in Omaha, he’s manages a small chain of family restaurants, I’m an office manager, our home is simple compared to what I had before, and we’re happy.
Well, mostly.
Compared to the life I lived for three years, this one is dull as dishwater. I went from small town farm girl to the arm of a multi-millionaire who couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes, showed me the world, and gave me everything a girl could ask for to life in suburbia. The best thing I have from that time is the six-year-old little boy who is a mirror image of his father and is a daily reminder of what I gave up for the sake of anonymity. He was the reason I walked away. I couldn’t in good conscience subject my son to that fast-paced lifestyle where nothing was certain, not even safety, knowing what the risks were. When I walked away, I walked away from everything: wealth, notoriety, and love. The last was the only one that haunts me; the rest I couldn’t give a shit about.
Currently, I’m home alone—a situation that doesn’t occur very often. Tom is at the opening of his newest location and Tyler is down the street playing with his friends. Normally I would take
this opportunity to clean house, prepare dinner, launder Tom’s suits, whatever needed to be done. Instead I’m in the tiny closet of my bedroom digging through old shoe boxes sitting in the very back. I have no idea whether Tom has any clue that the box I’m looking for exists; if he does, he has the good sense to not mention it.
My hands are shaking as I find what I’m looking for and sit cross-legged on the closet floor as I open it. Inside is a multitude of items ranging from pictures to postcards to ring boxes and notes. Whether my desire to sift through the remnants of my old life has been triggered by what I believe to be the return of that old life doesn’t matter at this point. I shuffle through photographs set in
London, Paris, Sydney, New York City... And in every one of them the photographer managed to capture the disbelief in my expression that I was there at all and in the arms of the most amazing, sweet, gorgeous man on the face of the planet.
When the doorbell rings, the longing for that life is at an all-time high and I sit frozen staring at an image of my wedding day. I’m not surprised at the sound—part of me has been expecting it long before now—but I know what’s coming and I’m dreading it with every fiber of my being. At the same time, my heart is beating in way it hasn’t in five years because I know this is the only way I’ll ever be reunited with
him
.
I take a few moments to collect myself before pushing to my feet and walking downstairs with a calm that surprises me, and as though my guest knows I’m approaching, the doorbell rings once more. At the front door, I glance at the mirror beside it, knowing it was way too late to change my appearance, but at least I could smooth my hair a little and attempt to st
op my shaking hands as I reach for the doorknob.
The breath is knocked out of my chest when I see the man leaning on my doorframe wearing a crooked smile that, unfortunately for me, still has the power to reduce me to a puddle of nothing.
“Hello, Samantha.” The husky tone of his voice throws me back eight years to that nineteen-year-old diner waitress who had no idea what the outside world was about. And I suddenly know that life has returned with no intention of leaving again.
