“Miss Prescott also tells me you want to start a foundation in Darion’s name.”
“I do.”
“I would be happy to give you the money to get that started.” What the fuck?
“You would?”
“Yes. Of course.”
While I wanted nothing more than to enthusiastically take the money, this was my father. He didn’t do anything out of the kindness of his heart. “What’s the catch?”
“Excuse me?”
“Come on, Dad. You don’t do anything without having an ulterior motive.”
Dad pursed his lips. “Fine. I want you to sit down for interviews with the media. Mention my name and how I influenced you to see the error of your ways. I could use the boost.”
I shook my head slowly back and forth. “Unfuckingbelievable. You’re such a cold bastard that you would come to my friend’s funeral to bargain for something to benefit your political career.”
“It doesn’t just benefit me. It benefits the youth of this community.”
“Forget it. I’ll start the foundation—without you.”
My father’s face clouded over in anger. “Good luck with that. You’ll never be able to get it off the ground without my help.”
“You might be right, but even if it fails, I’ll know I didn’t sell my soul to the devil to make it happen.” I turned to look at Avery. “I already made that mistake once. I won’t do it again.”
As Avery’s eyes widened, my father growled, “Fine.” He wagged a finger in my face. “The next time you find yourself with your ass in a bind, don’t bother calling me. I won’t help you.”
“Good. Don’t need or want your help.”
“We’ll see about that.” He then stormed out the door.
“Are you okay?” Avery asked.
“You know, I’m actually good.”
“Really?”
“I am. More than anything, I’m determined to prove my father wrong. I will get that foundation going.”
“I believe you, and I’ll help you.”
I smiled. “I know you will.”
“Do you know why?”
“Because you love me?”
“That’s right. I love you very, very much, Cade.”
I brushed a hand against her face. “And I love you very, very much. Like Jake Ryan loved Samantha. Like Blane loved Andie. Like Romeo loved Juliet. Like that utter shit Hamlet loved Ophelia.”
Avery grinned. “You had me at Jake Ryan and Samantha.”
“But most of all, you are the Fairy Queen to my Bottom.”
Tilting her head in thought, Avery said, “You’re comparing yourself to the half-man, half-donkey from A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”
“Face it, I’m an incredible jackass.”
Avery threw her head back and laughed. As the noise echoed through the rotunda, she quickly cupped her hand over her mouth and flushed red. Although she seemed mortified to be laughing after a funeral, the sound helped heal my troubled soul. The last few days had been so dark, and it was good to hear laughter again. “Don’t feel bad. Darion would have liked you laughing. He wouldn’t have wanted us to bury ourselves in mourning. He would want us to live and be happy.”
“I know he would.”
I drew Avery into my arms. “He would want us to live every moment to the fullest, and that’s what I intend to do, with you and only you.”
Then I brought my lips to hers.
AVERY
Five Months Later
With a VIP lanyard around my neck, I stood on the sidelines of the Georgia Dome. A few feet away from me, Cade was looking very sexy outfitted in his Georgia Tech uniform. We were just an hour away from the kickoff for the SEC championship game between Georgia Tech and the University of Tennessee. The stadium was already packed, and the air was filled with buzzing conversation.
Cade was standing next to a tall, balding reporter from ESPN. “If you’re just joining us, I’m here at the Georgia Dome with Georgia Tech senior running back, Cade Hall.” The reporter gave Cade a toothy grin. “So you’ve had an amazing season—probably the best of your career.”
Cade smiled. “Yeah, I have. It’s been a real blessing to have my final year be such a successful one.”
Although I’d never been a huge fan of football, I had been to every home game of Cade’s, and I’d even made it to some of the closer out-of-town games. I would never be someone who lived and breathed for the blue and the gold, but it was growing on me.
The reporter’s lips curved into a smirk. “I understand that you came close to not being part of the Yellow Jackets’ football program this year.”
A sheepish expression came over Cade’s face. “I got myself into some hot water after doing a really stupid and childish prank, and it looked like I might be suspended from the program unless I completed community service hours at The Ark.”
He turned to wink at me as the reporter filled the audience in about The Ark and its founder. Even though we’d been back together for months now, I still got butterflies in my stomach when he winked at me.
“And it was because of your time at The Ark that you started the Darion Richards Foundation.”
A look of immense pride came over Cade’s face. “Yes, while I was at The Ark, I met an amazing athlete and gifted young man named Darion Richards. He was killed in a drive-by and because of the life lessons he taught me, I wanted to do something to give back to at-risk youth.”
True to his word, Cade had started the foundation without any help from his father. He had managed to pair up with Amad and some of his financial donors, and I was so proud of the amazing transformation he had made. The goodness I had always known was within him had come shining through.
The reporter nodded. “From what I hear, the foundation is off to a great start and doing great work here in the inner city.”
“It’s still in its infancy since it has only been up and running for about two months now, but I have a lot of support, and I look forward to seeing what the future holds.”
“And what does your personal future hold?”
“Well, after graduating this spring with a premed degree, I’ll be attending Emory next year to begin pursing sports medicine.”
“That’s very impressive.”
“I’ll be off the field in more ways than one.”
The reporter’s blond brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I’ll soon be out of the dating field—permanently.”
With a beaming expression, the reporter asked, “Does this mean you have a special lady?”
Cade stared past the camera to me. “I do, one who has stood by me during the darkest time of my life and who shows me love like I never knew existed. I’m a better man because of her. I don’t know if I could make it without her, and that’s why I want to ask her to be my wife.”
When Cade started walking toward me, I thought my heart was going to explode right out of my chest. Oh. My. God. Was this real life? Was this actually happening? I swept my hands to my face and covered my mouth in absolute shock.
Cade knelt down before me. “Avery Rose Prescott, will you marry me?”
“Yes! Yes, of course!” I cried before throwing my arms around his neck. He stood up and wrapped his arms around me. I kissed him all over his face before my lips finally met his and we sealed the deal of our engagement.
Cheers and applause erupted throughout the whole stadium, although it was hard to notice the crowd while being held by my beautiful man. Normally, I would have been mortified by the attention, but in this case, I loved every minute it. I mean, how many people get their proposal witnessed by thousands of people—maybe even millions considering the television audience. Okay, so maybe the thought of millions of people made me a little queasy, but it was still amazing.
“There you have it, folks. Even if the Tech Yellow Jackets lose the game tonight, Cade Hall is a still a winner,” the reporter said.
Even though we were live on national TV, Cade
and I didn’t stop kissing. I wanted nothing more than to stay in that moment, wrapped in the arms of the man I loved for the rest of my life. We had come a long way from two teenagers from opposite worlds. We’d been to hell and back.
Like the man who brought us together said, the course of true love never did run smooth. We’d learned some of life’s lessons the hard way, and now we had nowhere else to go but up.
Katie Ashley is a New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon Best-Selling author of over twenty titles across many genres. She lives outside of Atlanta, Georgia with her toddler daughter, Olivia, and a spoiled mutt named Duke. She has a slight obsession with Pinterest, The Golden Girls, Shakespeare, Harry Potter, and Star Wars.
With a BA in English, a BS in Secondary English Education, and a Masters in Adolescent English Education, she spent eleven years teaching both middle and high school English, as well as a few adjunct college English classes. As of January 2013, she became a full-time writer. She is a hybrid author with both indie and traditionally published titles.
Keep connected with all things Katie Ashley by signing up for her Newsletter. And following her Amazon Page
Running Mate
Election Day 2016
Barrett
The name’s Barrett Callahan. Yeah, that Barrett Callahan—the one the press dubbed “Bare” after those naked sexting pictures surfaced. At twenty-five, I was armed with an MBA from Harvard, an executive position at my father’s Fortune 500 company, a penthouse, and a different piece of delectable eye candy in my bed every weekend. I had a life most men dreamed of. But then my father decided to run for president, and my playboy lifestyle became a liability to his campaign that was built on family values. My makeover comes in the form of a fake fiancée who I don't even get to choose--one who is an uptight, choirgirl acting priss.
Addison
My latest relationship had gone down in flames, and I was drowning in a sea of student loans when in true Godfather status, James Callahan made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Seven figures for seven months on the campaign trail pretending to be the adoring fiancée of his son, Barrett. As soon as he won the election, our engagement would be dissolved amicably for the press, I was free to ride off into the sunset a million dollars richer, and because of the NDA, no one would be the wiser. Sure, I’d never met the guy, but I’d been a theater nerd in high school. I could pull off any role from Lady Macbeth to Maria Von Trapp. But that was before I met my fake fiancé—the infuriating, self-absorbed, egotistical King of the Manwhores.
It will be a fight to the death finish, and that’s not even considering the actual campaign.
Katie Ashley
Copyright 2013 Katie Ashley Productions
Untitled
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Author Note
I would have never written this book without the loss of one of my students. Cooper Newsome—you were taken far too soon, and while you were far from the character who became Jake Nelson, your tragic loss planted the seed for this novel. And for Lindsey Norrell—whose sweet smile could light up a room and is sure to be lighting up heaven now. This book is in loving memory of you both.
And special gratitude to all the students of Liberty, Creekland, and Adairsville Middle Schools along with Creekview, LaFayette, and Cass High Schools who touched my life in so many ways. Although writing was my dream since childhood, I know being a teacher was what God called me to do for eleven and a half years. The lessons you taught me, the laughter you brought me, and the tears we shed together will live bright in my memory for all my life. I thank you from the bottom of my heart and hope God richly blesses you all the days of your life.
And finally to the memories of Travis Appling and David Wheeler—the Cherokee High Class of 97’ was never the same without you guys. All these years later, we still desperately feel your loss and like the Kenny Chesney song, we wonder who you’d be today.
CHAPTER ONE
As I slowly drifted back into consciousness, my knee jerked upward, banging against the desk. “SHIT!” flashed like neon in my mind, and I had to bite my lip to keep it from escaping out my mouth. Instead, I peered around the room, trying to gage whether the noise alerted anybody to my nap.
Nope. The coast was clear. Everyone else in the classroom looked stoned or spaced out. Mr. Jones, a man who was a cross between Clay Aiken and Pee Wee Herman, was perched on his stool in the front of the room, droning on and on about the evils of Big Brother in 1984.
I rolled my eyes towards the ceiling. Jesus, the man must have a screw loose. I mean, it was the first day back after Spring Break and what was he doing? Lecturing.
What a dumbass.
I could have assured Mr. Jones that no one gave a flying shit about George Orwell. Half the class was still hung over from the previous week’s antics. Even the usual goody two shoes wore expressions of pure boredom as their pens hung in midair over their notebooks.
I ran a hand through my dark hair, hoping to smooth down some of the places that looked like “desk hair’ where I’d been napping. My mouth felt the way I imagined a moldy gym sock would taste, so I rifled through my pockets to find a piece of gum. I chewed on it as I glanced down at my cell phone. No new messages.
Where the hell is Jake? I couldn’t help wondering. Jake Nelson was the biggest douchebag I’ve ever known. He was the prankster who always gave Freshman swirlies in the toilets or shanked them, leaving them bare-assed and humiliated in front of the entire school. He was the illiterate jock who always wanted to copy off your homework or cheat off your test. He was the idiot who could never hold his alcohol and always ended up puking in the back seat of your car before slurring an “I looove you, man!” Yeah, he was all those things and more.
Most of all he was my best friend.
Our friendship was cemented in kindergarten. That’s when Jake decided to duct tape me to my chair before recess. There’s a saying in the South that “Duct tape’ll fix anything.” Yeah, I’m a living testament to that. It will certainly render a five year old captive to a plastic chair until hostage negotiators—or your teacher—comes to the rescue. Once the tape was removed, along with the first layer of my epidermis, I had a new friend.
Years later, the story of how we met was one of Jake's favorite stories to tell. Usually it was right after some hot as hell girl asked about that distorted patch of skin on my right arm where hair refused to grow because the follicles had been damaged by duct-tape.
"What happened?" she'd ask, eyes wide with compassion as she traced the area playfully with a finger. They always hoped for a good story – I'd been burned in a fire trying to save the neighbor's newborn baby, or it was from the time I skidded out on my motorcycle trying to outrun the State Troopers. But like the true douchebag he was, Jake always shot that fantasy down within seconds.
"Dude," he'd say, sloshing his beer out of the cheap plastic cup that seemed permanently attached to his hand from Friday night til Sunday morning.
"Jake…" I’d begin, my eyes pleading with him to drop it and not go there for the hundredth time.
"Get this. I duct taped him to his chair when we were five."
"Jake, shut the fuck up!"
Ignoring me, Jake would snicker. "He like, practically pissed himself he was so scared when Mrs. Cook ripped that shit off."
I rolled my eyes thinking about him. He was supposed to get home from his grandparent’s farm late last night, but inst
ead, he’d sent me a text around ten saying he was blowing off the first day back and would be home around three if I wanted to hang out after school. It was ironic that Jake, the unofficial King of Partying, spent his Spring Break off chillin’ in the mountains among rolling pastures filled with steaming cow patties rather than hitting the sandy white beaches and orgies of Panama City or Daytona. Of course, he always managed to raise some hell while he was away or take advantage of some hillbilly girl high off moonshine.
The last time I’d heard from him was around eight this morning when he’d sent me a cryptic text during first period that read I fucked up. She’s gonna be pissed! I took it to mean he’d done something stupid to piss his mom off. But after my last few Dude, WTF? texts had gone unanswered, I was seriously beginning to think he was in major trouble—like blue lights and handcuffs trouble.
Suddenly, a voice came over the intercom.
“Mr. Jones?”
“Yes,” Mr. Jones answered impatiently, clearly pissed that the powers that be had dared to interrupt his literary ramblings.
“We need Noah Sullivan to Administrative Services, please.”
At the sound of my name, I shot upright in my chair, straightening my slouching posture. Administrative Services? Once again, SHIT! flashed in my mind as I frantically tried to figure out what I’d done wrong.
“I’ll send him up,” Mr. Jones replied, giving me a disapproving look.
Without a word, I gathered up my books and left the room. Part of me was thrilled to be spared one more minute of British Lit, but at the same time, I was a little concerned that I’d been summoned to administration.
Out in the hallway, I ran into my cousin, Alex. He raised his dark eyebrows at me. “You got called up too?”
I nodded. “What do you think is up?”