West Read online

  Contents

  WEST

  Copyright

  Other Titles by Author

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Author's Note and Excerpt

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  WEST

  A From The Wreckage Novel

  Michele G. Miller

  West

  Copyright © 2016 Michele G Miller

  Published by Enchanted Ink Press

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author. Copyright infringement is against the law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All right reserved.

  West is edited by Samantha Eaton-Roberts

  Cover design by Designs by Starla

  Cover photography by Regina Wamba of www.maeidesign.com

  Cover Models: Calen Dehen and Bryden Giving

  Other Titles by Author

  From The Wreckage Series - Coming of Age Drama

  From The Wreckage

  Out of Ruins

  All That Remains

  West

  The Wrecked Series - Coming of Age Drama (From The Wreckage spin-offs)

  Into the Fire - Dani’s story

  The Prophecy of Tyalbrook Trilogy - YA Fantasy Romance

  Never Let You Fall

  Never Let You Go

  Never Without You - Coming soon

  Individual titles

  Last Call - New Adult Romance

  Visit my website for updates

  https://michelegmillerbooks.squarespace.com/

  “There are far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”

  ~ C.S. Lewis

  To the ones clinging to the pain. Let it go.

  Use your past to fuel your big, bright, beautiful future.

  One

  “Still can’t miss a game?” Jeff jumps onto the bench of the picnic table at The Ice Shack and takes a seat next to me. I’ve been sitting here watching students from Hillsdale High show up in droves for the past twenty minutes. The Shack is always the place to hang after Friday night games; with tonight being the first game of the new school year, it’s especially packed.

  His shoulder knocks into mine. “Why do you keep showing up if it bothers you?”

  “Who said it bothers me?”

  “Seriously?” Jeff’s right brow cocks up as one corner of his mouth turns down.

  “Whatever,” I mutter. He knows me well. I kick at his foot with the toe of my boot, changing the subject as we watch the crowd. “You played a good game tonight. A little weak to the right, but you keep it up and A&M won’t regret recruiting you.” He plays defensive back for our high school and he’s exceptional. It’s why he’s been heavily recruited by every school in the state—and then some.

  He shakes off my comment. “It’s a long season, West.” He sighs, “Wow, this is it. Senior year.”

  “Senior year,” I repeat, sending a knowing smile his way. “Hard to believe we’ve almost made it.”

  Jeff scoffs. “Hell, it’s hard to believe we’ve survived this long. Hey, why don’t you come hang out with the living for a change tonight?” He nods his blond head toward the crowd of jocks and other students from Hillsdale congregating around the parking lot. I shrug, ignoring his intentional dig at my choice of friends, and am spared the need to refuse by the uptick in crowd noise that grabs Jeff’s attention.

  A smile forms on his face and he rubs his hands together before hopping down from the table. He walks backwards, motioning over his shoulder to the car sitting in the middle of the parking lot, the headlights flickering on and off. “Gotta run. My girl’s here.”

  “You and Katie? Again, man?” I groan, although I know it’s pointless to argue. “Will you ever learn?” I call after him as I survey the scene behind his back. The car belongs to Tanya Rivera—Katie’s best friend—and she’s unable to move thanks to two guys who are re-enacting their own version of Magic Mike in the beam of her headlights. Cheers at their antics ring out.

  “Come over,” Jeff offers again, and I shake my head at him and the showboaters. “Don’t pretend those little skirts have no effect on you, Rutledge. I know where, and who, your eyes focus on,” Jeff shouts with laughter as he jogs backward to join the others. I flip him off before turning my back to the crowd.

  Instead of joining them I remain seated on the table to the left of The Shack, gazing at the shadowy field before me. The late August air is humid and a trail of sweat trickles down the small of my back as a light breeze picks up. It’s the last weekend of summer break. Come Monday, I’m a senior; I’m not sure if I’m relieved or not. I have no concrete plans for my life after high school.

  Not anymore.

  I’ll still go to A&M—because it’s what Rutledge boys do—but I won’t be doing what I’d always planned. Instead I’ll spend my Saturdays cheering on one of my best friends, Jeff, and my brother Austin as they chase their dreams on the football field without me. The notion leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. A hollow sensation sinks into my chest, but I push it aside as my ears pick up the cheers and name calling around me.

  The loud blare of a horn puts a smile on my face as Tanya’s curses carry from the parking lot to my hiding spot. Funny enough, I don’t feel as though I’m missing out on much. I enjoy it here in my dark corner away from the people I’ve known for most of my life. Flipping a flask around between my fingers, I contemplate what Jeff said when he first showed up. Going to football games, the ones I should be playing in, doesn’t bother me. Not usually. It’s been four years since I took an official snap, threw a pass under the Friday night lights, and hoisted a teammate into the air after an amazing connection. Four years since I gave it up. Yet I show up to every game my old teammates play and I watch. I find myself studying their moves and deciphering the playbook mentally. I curse their stupid mistakes as though they affect me, and I begrudgingly cheer their wins.

  Begrudgingly.

  My breath catches at the word. Perhaps I care more than I’d like to admit, but it’s too late now.

  “Poor Tanya, that can’t be comfortable.”

  The unmistakable voice of Jules Blacklin—head cheerleader, town sweetheart, and the Quarterback’s girlfriend—interrupts my complicated thoughts. Startled, I shift and look over my shoulder. Jules has taken a seat at my picnic table with her back to me. Her tiny cheerleading uniform hugs her figure; the pleated skirt riding low on her hips offers me a tantalizing glance at the smooth skin of her lower back. I bite back an admiring smile an
d a dozen dirty thoughts. “You always talk to yourself, cheerleader?”

  Red hair flies around as Jules’ head snaps my way. This girl is gorgeous, as one would expect a cliché golden girl in high school to be. She looks at me, her blue eyes wide with surprise; she obviously didn’t see me sitting here in the dark. I suppress my grin as I study the little wrinkles in her forehead and the pink tint to her face. Even in the dark her skin reminds me of a damn peach. I recall a time, years ago, when I touched those smooth cheeks and gazed into those crystal blues. The thought stirs something within. Damn it. While I sit here and lose my ever-loving mind at the sight of her, she merely blinks as though she’s trying to recognize me. I attempt to not let her indifference bruise my ego.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re excused, Buffy,” I drawl. I grin at my clever joke as I tip my head to the side and allow my eyes to rove over her backside again. We go way back—elementary school, pee wee football, middle school team events—she’s part of a past life. I’ve spoken to Jules a handful of times in the past four years. Less since she started dating Stuart Daniels during our sophomore year. I’ve watched her though; she’s hard to ignore.

  Jules studies me, her head tilting side to side before one russet brow arches and a self-satisfied look washes over her face. “Does that make you Spike? Sitting here brooding in the dark with your flask?”

  I don’t suppress my approval of her witty comeback. Touché. I lift the flask in question, saluting her with a mock toast. Jules’ eyes narrow on my mouth and a million thoughts whirl through my mind. Why the hell is she sitting here? I assumed she’d walk away the moment I spoke, and I certainly didn’t expect her to fire teasing comments back at me. But now, not only has she remained sitting, but she’s watching me. No, not watching me, she’s watching my mouth as though she wants to taste the liquid dripping from my bottom lip. My stomach clenches at the thought and I swallow hard. Making the decision to enjoy this rare encounter, I face her fully and lean my forearms on my knees. As though the weight of my stare is too much, Jules stands with a shake of her head.

  “I think I could live with you calling me Spike,” I say, hoping for another round of verbal boxing with her. A breeze rolls by, lifting her red and white pleated skirt. A guy’s gotta love those little skirts.

  “Really?” Her hand presses her pleats down. “You do know Buffy and Spike hated each other?” she asks. There’s surprise in her tone. She sounds hurt somehow, and I can’t fathom why she’d feel disappointment. I brush the ridiculous notion aside.

  The lights inside The Shack flicker once, but I pay little attention. I’m too engaged in verbal sword play with a beautiful girl. Jules pointed out Buffy and Spike’s disdain for one another, but I’m reminded of the enemies-to-lovers story arc between the characters. Silently thanking my ex Carley for forcing her addiction to the show upon me when we were dating, I lower my voice and correct Jules’ statement with a grin.

  “At first.”

  Her eyes narrow. “At first?”

  “Jules,” interrupts Katie as she jogs our way. “Can you believe this? Every freaking weekend they do this crap. Can’t we just get Tanya and go? I’m so tired of all the pissing contests.”

  Straightening, I pay Jeff’s on-again, off-again girl no heed as my eyes lock on Jules’ eyes. I will her to grasp the meaning behind my comment. Katie barely glances my way as she grabs Jules’ hand, ready to pull her back to her friends, but Jules doesn’t budge. I sense the moment she catches it, the double meaning of my words.

  Her blue eyes widen and she stammers, “Oh, at first.”

  Her face lights up and I’m transfixed. Without warning, my memories fly back to the seventh grade and a kiss with the girl I wanted to impress so badly that I manufactured our being picked for the age old game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. This is the girl Jeff was referring to only moments ago as he laughed at me. The one my eyes always go to, the one who might have been mine once upon a time, if not for cancer.

  If not for Stuart Daniels.

  If not for my being a quitter.

  Jules Blacklin.

  My memories mean nothing as the lights flicker on and off once more and beside me Katie whines as she tugs on Jules’ arm. “Come on.”

  Irritated at my thoughts, I salute the girls with a chuckle. “See ya around, Buff,” I say as I slide down from the picnic table, forcing myself to leave.

  Or I would have left if not for the shouting.

  Katie’s angry interruption makes sense now as I look to where she came from. A fight has broken out in the parking lot and I shake my head, mumbling beneath my breath, “Stupid pricks.”

  I’m not able to identify the participants rolling around on the ground before their shouts are drowned out by a sound infinitely more terrifying.

  My pulse quickens as the piercing scream of the early warning storm sirens go off, making me and everyone around jump at the signal. The Ice Shack goes silent and I hold my breath as I look past the crowd and down the highway toward the normally cheerful town of Tyler, Texas. It currently resembles a disco, the lights flashing on and off, and I know—we all know—something isn’t right.

  Two

  This is a test of the emergency broadcast system . . . The robotic voice plays through my mind as the scene around me morphs from frozen disbelief to pandemonium. A dust-filled gust whips my face, causing my eyes to water as a transformer blows in the distance, throwing the parking lot into darkness.

  “Come on! Let’s go,” Katie yells at Jules, who looks from me to the town and back. My eyes shift from her back to the waves of people attempting to flee the area in their cars. They’re creating a traffic jam worthy of a Dallas highway in less than one minute. There’s no way we’re getting out of the parking lot by vehicle.

  Safety.

  The word supersedes all other sounds, hurling into my brain, and I listen. We must find shelter. Something underground. If this had been a real test . . . the robotic voice persists as all the years of weather drills and warnings return to me.

  A hole, a basement—we need a basement!

  Wasting no time, I latch on to Jules’ arm before she can leave my sight with Katie. She turns to me, confusion etched across her face, and I raise my voice over the mayhem, “No! We need to find a safe shelter. You can’t outrun a tornado.” I tug at Jules in an attempt to force her to follow me. Her eyes are filled with fear as she shouts for Katie over her shoulder. In the distance, a rumbling vibration breaks through the thick Texas air. Shit! I’m done standing around. “Come on,” I order, pulling Jules’ arm again. This time she follows, dragging Katie with her.

  Katie’s frantic shouts reach me as we jump over the low-lying hedges separating The Shack’s property from the fields next door.

  “Tanya! Jeff!”

  Their names float past me on the wind and I shake my head, pushing them out of my mind. There’s no time. We need to run. I’m focused on Grier house coming into view in front of us. The chipping white paint of the vacant farmhouse glows in the shadowed moonlight. A beacon, as hell breaks loose all around us.

  Behind us there are explosions—transformers—and trees groaning. Shouts of terror mix with the persistent blaring of horns and something large falls on the highway back by The Ice Shake. The sound of metal scrapes the asphalt and sparks shoot into the air. Debris. My mind goes to the inevitable. If there’s debris reaching us, then there’s a tornado behind us somewhere.

  I don’t take the time to look back. I squeeze Jules’ hand in mine and I run. I run until my body is yanked backward, then I pause when, out of the corner of my eye, I catch her stumbling. Tightening my grip, I jerk hard on Jules’ arm. I give her the slightest moment to regain her footing, and we’re off running again.

  Safety. Shelter. Run.

  Those are my three objectives.

  It’s nearly impossible to hear over the howl of the wind, but Jules’ voice reaches me. I turn, intending to yell at her to keep running, and see Katie is no longer wi
th us. Jules is frantic, her head swinging back and forth as she searches for Katie. Shutting off my emotions, I force myself to ignore Jules’ fear.

  Safety. Shelter. Run.

  Three objectives. Two goals. Save yourself, save Jules.

  I can’t stop and search for Katie, a girl I’ve known all my life. My best friend’s girl. Stopping puts me at risk. It puts Jules at risk. Not happening. I keep running, continuing to move forward as Jules wrenches back. Her fight forces me to hesitate and I peer over my shoulder, scanning the black field looking for the blonde bob I know belongs to Katie.

  The racing silhouettes of my peers greet me instead. It’s surreal. We’re all running for our lives. A moment ago each person here had their own objective, their own goal for the night. Now we all have the same purpose—survival.

  The outline of a body comes into view directly to my free side. It’s Big Ruben, a Hillsdale football player and one of my former teammates. He drags Katie in his wake and I release a sigh of relief. Ruben shouts, but his words are lost on the wind. He waves us forward and I assume he’s merely trying to reassure us he’ll take care of Katie, but Jules isn’t having it. Her grip on my hand loosens as she stretches for her friend, and I snap.

  “Don’t you dare let go, Buffy! We need to run!” I warn, hauling her into my side and wrapping my arm around her waist for a more secure grip.

  “I can’t leave Katie!” she argues as tiny wisps of her hair whip at my face in the increasing onset of wind.”

  “We’re not leaving her. She’s with Ruben. Now come on!” My eyes flick to Ruben and Katie once more, confirming they’re with us. The shadow of Katie’s hand extends forward, looking for a connection with Jules. Damn it.

  I slow up.