Always Love Me: A Standalone Second Chance Romance Read online

  Always Love Me

  A Standalone Second Chance Romance

  Zoey Derrick

  Contents

  Life

  Prologue

  1. Skylar

  2. Skylar

  3. Skylar

  4. Xavier

  5. Skylar

  6. Skylar

  7. Xavier

  8. Skylar

  9. Skylar

  10. Skylar

  11. Xavier

  12. Dirk

  13. Rebel

  14. Dirk

  15. Rebel

  16. Dirk

  17. Rebel

  18. Xavier

  19. Rebel

  20. Dirk

  21. Rebel

  22. Xavier

  23. Dirk

  24. Dirk

  25. Rebel

  26. Dirk

  Untitled

  27. Skylar

  28. Xavier

  29. Skylar

  30. Xavier

  31. Skylar

  32. Rebel

  33. Skylar

  34. Xavier

  35. Skylar

  36. Xavier

  37. Skylar

  38. Xavier

  39. Skylar

  40. Xavier

  41. Skylar

  42. Xavier

  43. Xavier

  Untitled

  44. Xavier

  45. Skylar

  46. Dirk

  47. Dirk

  48. Skylar

  49. Skylar

  50. Xavier

  51. Skylar

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by Zoey Derrick

  Cover Design: Parajunkee Design

  Images are licensed stock images.

  Editing completed by Raw Book Editing http://www.rawbookediting.com

  Copyright © 2019 Zoey Derrick & Kinky Panda Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  The following is a work of fiction, events that transpire may be similar in nature to real life situation, but are portrayed fictionally here. Research has been conducted however, what you read here may not be entirely accurate.

  Any reference to real life locations are strictly for the sake of fiction. Any song titles, band names, or other real life items are used with the upmost respect to those artists.

  The following my not be resold, reproduced or redistributed without the express written consent of the owner of the copyright, Zoey Derrick, Kinky Panda Publishing or Zoey Derrick Publishing. For further information, please contact Zoey at [email protected] for more information.

  For all those who have loved and lost and have learned to love again.

  “A man is lucky if he is the first love of a woman. A woman is luckier if she is the last love of a man.”

  Charles Dickens

  Life

  Life.

  It’s a necessary battle.

  An unwinnable, constant battle.

  It’s like swimming out against an incoming tide. Stroke after stroke, minute after minute, you feel like you’re moving forward, making progress toward a far-off goal, but in reality, you’re doing little more than treading water. You swim harder, faster, and with more determination the longer you kick and swing your arms, and yet you’re pulled back toward the shore.

  Every once in a while, you catch a break. The tide shifts in your favor, and you ride with the current to pull you forward. You make progress quickly and efficiently. It may only be a yard or two, sometimes 10 or 20, but that goal finally grows closer. Until the tide shifts again, pushing against you, wearing you down, and the ground you gained is lost in a third of the time it took you to earn it. Then you’re back to treading water.

  Swimming, breathing, treading water, waiting patiently for that tide to shift again.

  You can’t give up, you can’t stop.

  You prepare for the tides to shift again, conserving energy, so you can propel yourself even farther the next time it shifts.

  Just when you think you’ve got things under control, the waves come. They crash over you. Pushing you toward the sandy bottom below. They toss you about, spinning you out of control until they pull you under. Your lungs fill with water. They burn with the desperate need for oxygen. Your muscles rage with pain as your body reminds you one last time that you are alive. That you have a choice.

  You can fight.

  Or you can let the cold darkness consume you.

  Despite the fact your life can only end one way, we fight every day for survival. We fight to make our life the best life, no matter the cost.

  Prologue

  Twenty Years Earlier

  Skylar – Age 12

  “How in the world are we going to tell her?” I hear Sarah say to someone. The response is a voice I know, but not one I can attach a face to.

  “Don’t. We have time,” the voice says.

  “Tell me what?” I snap as I round a corner into the kitchen.

  “Skye? What have you heard?” Sarah asks quickly, some worry in her voice.

  “Only that she doesn’t want you to tell me something,” I say back as I look at the other woman. It’s my aunt, Kathleen. “What are you doing here, Auntie?” I ask her.

  Sarah takes a deep breath before saying, “Skye, have a seat.” She pulls out the chair next to her.

  I cross my arms over my chest and tap my foot. “No! What’s going on?”

  Sarah cries harder, “Skye, something happened.”

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” I ask deadpan.

  “Oh baby, I’m so sorry…”

  “You’re a liar,” I scream.

  I turn on my heels and race out of the house. I don’t stop until I reach the end of the large dock in the sound. I squint against the bright setting sun, trying to see up the sound, but there’s nothing but small boats racing around, enjoying the clear, dry, warm spring day.

  “Skye?” my aunt calls behind me.

  “Tell me it’s not true. Please Auntie, please tell me he’s coming home.” I beg her as she wraps her arms around me.

  “I’m so sorry, baby, I wish I could.”

  “What about Jack?” I ask. “Is he okay?”

  “No, baby, I’m sorry. Jack’s gone, too.”

  “What happened?” I sob.

  She takes a deep breath. I instinctively know she’s trying to find a way to tell me how my father and Dirk’s father died, but I already know.

  She tells me anyway. “They got caught in a really bad storm. They tried to get them all, but the water was just too cold,” Kathleen finally manages.

  I knew it. I knew one day this would happen, but I didn’t expect it so soon. “What’s gonna happen to me? Are they going to take me away?”

  Aunt Kathleen pulls back, putting her hands on my shoulders, looking at me questioningly. “We haven’t worked out all the details, but how would you feel about moving to Portland with me and Uncle Randy?”

  Through the tears I nod.

  Dirk – Age 14

  “Where is she?” I yell when I see her bunny laying against my pillow.

  “She went to Portland with her aunt and uncle,” my mom says softly from the doorway.

  “Why?”

  “Because, she needs to be with her family.”

  “We’re her family,” I protest.

  “No, baby, we’re not. Not anymore.”

  My heart cracks, shakes and shatters as I realize the girl I was going to marry—when we’re old enough—is gone.

  Dirk – Age 17

  “Mom, I’m home,” I holler as I walk in the front door from work.

  My eyes wander around the ho
use, taking in its awful state, the same state it was this morning, and yesterday, and the day before that, and the month before that…you get the idea. The only thing that ever gets cleaned around here is what I clean.

  “Mom? Where are you?” I call out again as I walk down the hallway toward the living room, where she’s usually sitting in front of the television, some stupid show blaring. I come around the corner, and sure enough, she’s passed out.

  Today, it’s two empty bottles on the table. “Mom!” I shout. She doesn’t flinch.

  Her whole body slouches, pushing her arm off the side of the chair, and an orange bottle falls from her hand. “Mom,” I cry out as I close the distance between us and kneel on the floor next to her.

  I pick up the bottle.

  I close my eyes. I know what it says, I don’t have to read it. Then, like a lightning bolt, reality hits me and I look at it. “Hydrocodone,” I breathe. I look at her, then the bottle, and back at her. “I filled this yesterday,” I breathe. My eyes go to her chest, checking for movement. Nothing. I check her neck, feeling for a pulse.

  I find none.

  “Be at peace,” I whisper as chills run through me.

  I reach for the phone on the table next to her. I grab the receiver and press the buttons I’ve pressed so many times before.

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” the dispatcher says.

  “My name is Deidrick Tyler, and my mother has taken her own life.”

  Dirk – Age 20

  AGHHHHHH!

  It doesn’t matter how loud I scream; nothing comes out.

  The pain.

  The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever felt in my life.

  Burning.

  Shooting.

  Burning.

  My foot fucking hurts.

  I fight to open my eyes, but nothing. They won’t open.

  I try to move my arms. They won’t move.

  My head is pounding.

  My shoulder feels like it’s on fire.

  Every muscle, every bone.

  I feel like I’ve been in an explosion.

  Then the memory floods through me.

  Taking cover behind a crumbling wall.

  Rifle in my hands, poised and ready.

  We’ve cleared the city to this point, the point where insurgents are firing on us any chance they get and from all directions.

  I hear the rustle of Kevlar, metal bouncing, boots hitting the dirt.

  Then the shifting of bodies around me.

  Looking.

  Searching.

  Seeking out the source of the noise.

  Relief floods through us when our second unit arrives.

  We started this mission with 20 of us.

  We’re down to 17.

  “Tyler, get your shit, let’s go,” my first sergeant commands. I grab my pack, toss it on my back, and ready my rifle. “Move out,” he orders, and slowly, one by one, we make our way into the square, taking cover and moving along the walls as quickly as we can until we reach the other side.

  Eyes roaming.

  Watching for movement.

  Watching for…

  All hell breaks loose.

  Rapid gunfire.

  Echoing off the walls around us.

  Grenades flying through the air.

  “Move! Now!” someone shouts.

  We all move…then everything goes black.

  Dirk - Unknown Number of Days Later

  “He’s coming around,” a woman says. It’s not a voice I know.

  “Sergeant Tyler, can you hear me?” a male voice asks.

  I try to nod, but nothing happens.

  I fight to open my eyes, and they flutter slightly.

  “Sergeant Tyler, I’m Doctor Vale. Can you open your eyes for me?”

  I’m trying, asshole.

  Again, they flutter.

  “Come on, Sergeant,” the woman encourages.

  Finally, light starts to peak through. I screw my eyes closed.

  “Too…” the voice that comes out feels like mine but doesn’t sound anything like me. “Bright,” I breathe. The tender scratchiness in my throat make it hard to speak past the soreness.

  “Turn down the lights,” Doctor Vale says. I notice the light behind my eyes dims a bit, and I try again. This time, I see more. Though, everything is blurry, and I want to rub my eyes. I try to lift my arms, but again, nothing.

  “Come on, Sergeant, let me see those eyes,” the nurse says.

  “I’m tryin’,” I whisper. I finally manage to blink. Once, twice, then finally my eyes open. “It’s blurry,” I murmur.

  “They’ve been closed for a while, Sergeant.” Doctor Vale says as a hand comes in front of my face. “How many fingers?” he asks.

  “Three,” I croak.

  “Good, how are you feeling?”

  “My foot, it’s killing me,” I mewl.

  “Which one?”

  “My right.”

  I can’t make out anything, but the doctor and nurse look at each other.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” Doctor Vale asks.

  I try to think, but my head is pounding. I close my eyes and flinch. “A square. My squad.” My eyes fly open, the blurriness fading a bit. “Where am I?” I ask.

  “Landstuhl Hospital in Germany. You’ve been here a few days and unconscious for a little over a week.” He lifts my right eyelid and holds it open then flashes a light in it. He repeats the process on my other eye. Good, they both still work.

  “My head is pounding.” I screw my eyes closed again.

  “You suffered a severe concussion and have a long, deep laceration on your scalp.”

  “That explains the headache,” I groan. “What else?”

  “You’ve got some second and third degree burns on your right shoulder and upper arm.” I move to look at my shoulder but stop myself when my head roars. “You lost a significant amount of blood from a very long laceration from your buttock to your knee.”

  “Is that why my foot is killing me?”

  He frowns, “No, the laceration is on your left leg.”

  I try to flex but stop quickly when pain rips through me. “What’s wrong with my right foot?” I manage to ask.

  “We were unable to save it,” Doctor Vale says somberly.

  “What do you mean?” I narrow my eyes at him. The pain in my head rages as I lift it to look down my broken body.

  I can see the toes on my left foot, right where they should be, but there is nothing next to it. “Fuck,” I growl and put my head back against the pillow. The pain in my head being too much to handle or the nurse with a syringe of something good knocks me out. I’m not sure which, but the next thing I really remember, I’m waking up in Washington D.C.. My eyes flutter open, and there, sitting on a tray in front of me is a little white bunny—her little white bunny.

  It represents everything I know I need to do from this moment forward. The little girl I need to find.

  That’s when I realize little boys die in sandboxes, and men are born when they come home.

  The little girl I once knew is no longer a little girl, and for the last six years, I’ve been holding on to a hope that will never come. A need that will never be satisfied. No matter how hard I work at it, I’m damaged and broken now, and she deserves so much better than that. Better than I could ever give her.

  The bunny never leaves me. Never leaves my side. It stands as my motivation to work harder, longer. It’s my driving force. If I’m ever going to get back the love of my life, I can’t be shattered and broken.

  Chapter 1

  Skylar

  Present Day

  Water cascades over my face as it warms. I didn’t wait for the water to heat before climbing in.

  I shiver, the coolness against my sleep-warm skin sends shivers over my body, and last night’s adventure slips into my mind.

  She’s sitting alone at the bar.

  Her strawberry blonde hair pulled back and up in a severe,
I-work-with-too-many-stiffs, bun.

  A weary look on her face and a smile on mine.

  She’s pretty in a simple kind of way. Her outfit is appropriate for an office, which accentuates the weary, worn-down look in her eyes.

  She’s had a bad day at the office and instead of going home, she’s come to drown her day with loads of alcohol in her drink. It’s clear. Vodka probably, but at least it’s not wine.

  She catches me looking at her, and I give her a sweet, reassuring smile, and a faint blush blooms on her cheeks. Lifting her glass, she hides her smile before taking another sip.

  The bartender I hadn’t been paying much attention to sets a fresh drink in front of me.

  “Give her another,” I smirk as I nod in the blonde’s direction.

  The bartender responds, but I don’t hear what she says.

  Truth be told, I don’t care.

  I continue to watch the blonde as she, not so subtly, keeps peeking in my direction. Her display of interest has my nipples pebbling beneath the tight, well fitted t-shirt I’m wearing. There’s no hiding my interest in her now. Not that I’d intended to do that in the first place. I’m not one of those women who slink away from what they want.