The Twenty-One (Emerald Cove #2) Read online

  THE TWENTY-ONE

  By Lauren K. McKellar

  Copyright © 2015 Lauren K. McKellar

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical re- views and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  If you are reading this book and have not purchased it or been gifted a copy via an online retailer, it has been pirated. Please delete this eBook and support the author by purchasing a copy from one of its many distributors.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover copyright © K. A. Last of KILA Designs

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  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

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  WANT MORE? READ A SAMPLE FROM THE PROBLEM WITH CRAZY ...

  This book is for everyone who has loved and lost. You got this.

  PROLOGUE

  Grief is a private thing. It’s not something I like to share with my mother and sister. It’s why I never let them come to the cemetery with me. How can you be someone’s rock when they’ve seen your cracks exposed?

  I run one finger over the embossed gold words on the marble headstone. My hand stills over the date that is forever engraved in my soul: November 21, 2014. One short year ago. The day that changed my life.

  You can protect your heart all you like. You can fold it inside bubble wrap, place it in a safe place and never let anyone near it, but the truth is, love finds a way in. We’re all only human like that.

  “Three months ’til your anniversary,” I whisper, even though there’s no one around to hear. It’s a day I’m dreading.

  Because the day my father died, he pulled me aside and asked of me one thing—just one thing.

  “I love you, Eleanor,” he said, hazel eyes gleaming into my own. “And I need you to be strong.”

  “I’ll be strong.” I sniffed and clutched his hand tight, as if my life depended on it.

  Mine didn’t.

  Only his was in the balance.

  He paused, then opened his mouth and closed it, as if trying to find the right words. “Mum and Dani ... they’re not as capable as you are. Look after your mother and your sister. Take care of them. They’re going to need someone like you.”

  I glanced over at the two of them, huddled together in the chairs sitting in the corridor. Tears stained their cheeks, and their shoulders shook with the pain of death. The pain of knowing the one person gluing your life together was going to become unstuck.

  I hurt; I couldn’t comprehend the idea of life without him. Life without my father. But instead of dwelling on grief, I chose to focus on an opportunity. To live life as he wanted. To devote myself to his request, and know that even though he wasn’t here with me, I was making him proud.

  Wherever he was.

  And wherever he wasn’t.

  I squared my shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “I’ll make sure they’re safe, Dad. It’ll be my number one priority.”

  And it was.

  Until a boy with blue eyes tore that idea to shreds.

  CHAPTER ONE

  There’s nothing romantic about frostbite. No matter how many books you read, no matter how many love scenes involving a passion so fiery it could melt ice, none of them deal with the impracticality of not being able to feel your toes. Or the chances of them turning blue.

  I breathe and air mists in front of my face, floating off into the empty green field before me. Well, empty except for three things. A hot-air balloon, a young couple and a picnic basket.

  “It’s so cold I could freeze my dick off.”

  Make that four things.

  Zylen Blackley shoves his hands into his black tight jeans, tossing back his head so a lock of hair that had fallen over his face lands bam, right in place, as he walks over from the parking lot.

  No, he doesn’t walk. Zylen Blackley never walks. He swaggers.

  “Well damn, wouldn’t that be a shame? And I had my money on an STD being the one to do the job,” I say, a sweet smile on my face.

  “Nice one, doll. And here I thought gambling was beneath you.” He walks over to my side and then whispers seductively close to my ear. His breath is hot against my neck. Too hot. “I guess something has to be.”

  “Get away.” I push against his firm chest, and he steps back, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “I know you’re secretly in love with my sister.”

  “I’ve known her since she was a kid,” Zy says. “We’re just friends, Ellie.”

  “Mmhmm. Friends. Who live together.” I raise my eyebrows and study him. “And party together. And who will probably one day require me to bail them out of jail, together.“

  “Loosen up, El Bell. It’ll do you the world of good.”

  I flip him the bird as he walks over to the ride-on mower parked next to the shipping container that doubles as office space for my boss, Colin, and climbs on board. I scowl, hating the way he looks over his shoulder and winks at me. As if that kind of thing makes my knees slightly weak, and my heart kind of jumpy.

  As if.

  The engine roars to life, a thick growl against the otherwise still morning. I turn my attention back to the field in front of me, and Colin, who is now striding from the balloon, leaving the couple to themselves.

  He brushes past me, his briefcase in hand, and charges toward the small shipping container. His hand alternates between pushing up the thick-rimmed glasses that rest upon his nose and rifling in the pocket of his brown slacks for his set of keys.

  “What’s taking so long?” I ask, stamping my feet to try and keep the feeling in my toes alive. Mud splatters over the ends of my maroon Doc Martens.

  “It didn’t go well, Ellie. Halfway through the flight, they asked me to head back. They’re having a fight,” he replies, his voice raised to be heard over the roar of the mower.

  I frown, and narrow my eyes on the couple again. Now that Colin’s mentioned it, I can see the evidence firsthand. The guy is tall, a hood covering his head, facing toward the forest at the other end of the field. The girl, though? Her shiny brown hair shimmers over the top of her wool-lined denim jacket as she presses against his chest, her slight frame shaking. He extends
a hesitant arm out to wrap around her shoulders, but she flinches it off and steps back.

  “That sucks,” I say. My heart goes out to the poor girl. I wonder what he’s done. What’s caused her all this emotional turmoil.

  “It’s bloody inconsiderate, if you ask me.”

  I blink. “Really?”

  “I’m sure you want to get out of this cold just as much as I do.” Colin jiggles his hand in his pocket until he finally retrieves the key to his office, unlocking the door. He ducks his head, his six-foot-seven height a stark contrast to my five-two, and steps inside.

  Before shutting the door behind him, he shoots me a sly grin. “I can tell you’re cold.” He glances at my chest and I shudder, but ignore his sleazy line. If he weren’t a close friend of my mother’s, I would have quit working for him years ago.

  I focus on the couple still standing in the field, right next to the little wicker basket that was once full of local goodies, from decadent cheeses, to fresh oysters, to plump strawberries to a crisp wine. I wonder how much of that the couple has consumed, or if their argument took off when the balloon did.

  The fight between the couple heats up. She steps back, her hands flying left and right. The odd word travels across the field, even over the mower—“you” and “how” and “why”. My mind runs wild, and I imagine all sorts of scenarios. Did he cheat on her? Lie? Forget her name in bed?

  “So much for true love, eh?” Zy raises an eyebrow, steering the mower past me. He drives it just a little too close for comfort, and I step back as the beast roars and chugs toward the end of the field.

  “You leave true love alone!” I call after him.

  His response?

  A kiss blown over his shoulder.

  Jerk.

  Back out on the field, the girl shoves against the guy’s chest, and he staggers. His arms reach out to her, to hold her, embrace her, but she flings her hands out to the side as if to say what am I supposed to do?

  And then she leaves.

  She marches past him, her brown shimmery hair flying out behind her with the tail of her scarf.

  The guy spins around, his face tilted to the cold earth beneath him. There’s something so desperately lost in his stance, something so hopelessly sad—I almost feel sorry for him.

  The girl stamps closer to me, her face an icy mask of composure. She’s holding it together, despite the tears welling in her eyes. The sadness trying to escape her mouth.

  “We’re finished,” the girl mutters as she walks past, heading to the parking lot behind me, and I don’t know if she means with the picnic basket or as a couple.

  I guess you could take it either way.

  Her car, a shiny silver BMW, chirrups and the lights flash, and she opens the door and starts it up. The engine revs and the wheels spin as she tries to reverse out of the muddy park, and she slams her hands down against the wheel in frustration as it stalls.

  For a moment, for just one moment, I think she’s going to break.

  Then she guns it for all it’s worth, and the car reverses back and jerks forward, flying out onto the road.

  I glance over to the field. The guy has one hand outstretched, as if somehow he could stop her from leaving with just the force of his mind and an extended arm. If only life were that simple.

  Colin breaks me from my reverie when his door creaks open. I spin to see his head poking out of the office doorway. “They’re gone?”

  “Just one.” I nod toward the man still standing in the middle of the field. He looks so forlorn there by himself. So solitary. So alone.

  “Drats,” he mutters, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Can you go sort that out? I don’t need his bad juju around here.”

  I presume by that he means him—his client. The man who ordered the picnic basket from Perfect Picnics, which I painstakingly packed at nine p.m. last night for Colin to deliver this morning. Because that’s what Colin, the least romantic man in the world, does for a living. He flies hot-air balloons and sells overpriced picnic baskets to those who believe in love. And in his spare time, he likes to torture me.

  My hands shove into the pockets of my jeans as I stare at the tall lone figure out there. What went so horribly wrong for you?

  I start my trek across the field, cursing with every step because the numbness is slowly creeping up my ankles. I need to get these Docs replaced. The dew creeps through the holes in the soles, turning my socks into sodden vessels, destined to freeze.

  The man doesn’t move to get closer to me. He just stands there, staring at the ground, his shoulders offering up a quick shudder, and for a brief moment I think he’s crying.

  Dear God, please don’t let him be crying.

  There are a lot of things I can handle in life, but tears aren’t one of them.

  And heights.

  I look at the big balloon and shudder. Just another reason Colin and I are so dissimilar.

  I keep my eyes firmly focused on the dark soil with flecks of green patched here and there, until the edges of dull, black Docs creep into my vision. My gaze travels up denim-clad legs, over the white T-shirt and black hoodie pulled up, to a face—

  That face.

  Blue eyes haunt me from skin that’s not tanned, but not too pale, either. His cheekbones are high and pronounced, mirroring the hard angle of his strong, firm jaw. He’s hot, the kind of good looking that belongs on a campaign for some kind of men’s cologne.

  Not the kind of hot that winds up dumped after a romantic date of hot-air balloons and picnic baskets.

  But more than all that?

  He’s the man who broke my heart.

  And I never thought I’d see him again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Hi.” Joel’s voice cracks as he says the word. Surprise is written on his face, in his wide eyes, his rounded mouth.

  “Joel,” I whisper, with a slight shake of my head. How? How is he here ... now? He has the same devastating blue eyes, but the blond hair I loved has been shaved down to his skull.

  My knees float away like fairy floss, independent of my being. I grasp behind me, looking for some kind of support, but there’s nothing there aside from frosty winter air and a whole world of the unknown.

  And then I do what any woman who reconnects with the love of her life after a mysterious three-year absence would do.

  I slap the bastard.

  “Shit!” Joel clasps at his cheek seconds after my palm makes contact.

  I wring my hand up and down, because damn, hitting someone in this kind of weather hurts. Still, as I see the shocked expression on Joel Henley’s face, I’m vaguely satisfied.

  Then my sense of Catholic guilt kicks in and I want to kiss it better.

  That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do when it came to Joel Henley. Try and make everything all right.

  “I’m sorry.” I step forward, then take two steps back, the irony of the movement not lost on me. “I just ... wow.” The word falls flat between us. “What are you doing here?”

  Joel opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish, then finally forms some words. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  I step back, holding my hands up. “Oh, shit, sorry. I would have called or texted to tell you I work here but—oh yeah.” I snap my fingers as if just remembering. “You broke off all contact.”

  “I’m sorry, Ellie.”

  “Sorry?” I ask, three years’ worth of rage firing inside of me. “Sorry you shut down all your social media? Sorry you stopped answering my calls? Or just sorry you left without a damn trace?”

  And that was exactly how it had been. Sure, we’d only been seventeen, both of us still in school. But my best friend in the whole world had disappeared the year before without a damn trace. My father had just been diagnosed with cancer. And then the boy I’d grown up next door to, the one who had picked me to be on his team for school sport when no one else would, the one who had defended my reading on the bus by pretending to read along with me, the one I had lost my virg
inity to and fallen in love with—he’d left too.

  Just like everyone else I cared about.

  It wasn’t as if he could have stayed—his whole family had moved to Sydney, an hour’s drive away. Still, I’d thought three years of high school love meant more than that. I’d thought three years of being together meant not deactivating social media or ignoring my texts and calls.

  I’d thought three years of being in love at least meant telling me he was going, and not leaving me to find out from my sister, who’d seen the truck pull out of his drive. Two days later, a for lease sign had appeared out the front of it.

  Still, that was a long time ago. Things are different now.

  Now, I look at the boy who broke my heart once more. Joel bites on his lip and studies the sparse ground, then looks up at me again. His fractured eyes widen, and different shades of blue spiral out of from his pupil. They are and always will be the most fascinating eyes I’ve ever seen.

  “Words are never going to be enough. Especially not with you.” He offers me a sad smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Ellie. I’m so damn sorry.” The way he says my name sends stupid tingles over my body, and I stamp my foot. Because damn and I hate you and everything. “I know I didn’t really ... well, things were hard. I had to cut all ties with you when we moved. I couldn’t ...”

  I raise my eyebrows and give him my best resting bitch face. “Couldn’t man up and just tell me the truth? That you were moving to the city and didn’t want to bother with our relationship?”

  The noises around us grow louder in our silence. The roar of the lawnmower in the distance. The parrots chirping their early-morning praise chorus.

  My heart, hammering in my chest.

  I hate you.

  I love you.

  A million times I’d pictured how this day would pan out. The day when I finally ran into Joel Henley again. Never did I think it would be like this, with him being dumped and me watching on from the sidelines. Not in a million years.

  “It’s complicated. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was just a kid ...” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, then drills me with that gaze again. “Look, you can go. This right here—this is not your problem.” Joel gives me a wry smile. Behind him, the colourful hot-air balloon mocks him with a dance, a gentle waltz in the morning breeze that’s performed in direct contrast to his mood. Zy’s mower growls across the field, and the scent of fresh-cut grass wafts across to us.