Something There In Between Read online

  Something There In Between

  S. Ferguson

  Edited by

  Sue Banner

  Cover Designed by

  Jay Aheer

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Something There In Between

  by S. Ferguson

  Edited by TCB Editing and Sue Banner

  Cover Design by Jay Aheer

  Copyright © 2016 by S. Ferguson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a Work of Fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are products of the imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  For Amanda

  Thank you for helping me find me.

  Prologue

  Bree

  I hated that Ron had made me take a night off. I hated nights off. In the calm and silence, my mind was too much.

  I sat in the park for hours tonight just sitting on my bench. This had become my habit on my rare nights off, staring off into space. Sometimes, I cried. Sometimes, I just contemplated how it was possible to live through so much pain.

  I always chain-smoked.

  I didn’t have it in me to walk to our… I mean my empty apartment. Some of his things were still there, taunting me that he’s not coming back, reminding me that I am just another thing he left in an abandoned apartment, not caring enough to return for.

  Memories flash through my brain. They’re burned into my head, and no amount of crying can purge them. Flashes of us.

  Alex… saying he loved me.

  Alex… teasing about how my bottom lip sometimes got caught on one of my front teeth when I was smiling really wide.

  Making out in whatever private place we could find, no agenda, just holding each other, and being together. And, then, he was gone.

  I take a shuddering breath, and look out into the nearly empty park. I was lucky that there was a small public park across from my apartment building; it was such an easy place to sit unnoticed for hours.

  My heart is shattered. My life is in ruins. I run on autopilot: take a shower, go to work, and eat when I can’t ignore the hunger anymore… everything I’m expected to do. I am living for the sake of living, but I am not alive.

  Restlessness takes over my mind. I have to do something to distract myself. There is only one thing that can numb the pain, if only for a few hours. I’m not addicted to drugs or alcohol, but I am an addict. I pull out my phone, and browse through my messages, picking a few random guys I’ve hooked up with before. I know one of them will want to hook up. For an hour, I can pretend to be wanted. I can pretend I am beautiful. I can pretend my chest isn’t a hollow, aching cavity.

  Nate messages back quickly and, as usual, I head to his house for the customary booty call. I know he has a girlfriend, even though he tries to lie about it. He assumes I care. I have a few weak moments, where I wish I could be more than a fuck, but I know the score. I have no illusions. He doesn’t know his girlfriend calls me about every other week anyway, asking me if I’m sleeping with him. I give her different answers, depending on my mood. She knows the score too; the difference between us is she’s in denial. I know exactly what this is. And I know exactly what I am.

  Worthless. Unwanted. Slut.

  I’m the girl you call for a fun time. You don’t take me on a real date because why waste the money? You know you’re going to get laid. You don’t tell your friends about me; hell, you probably don’t even tell me your real name. You lie to me about your girlfriend and, in some cases, your wife. The worst part is I know all of this. I smile when I know you’re lying through your teeth. I nod when you tell me you want to fuck me. I smile when you lie, and tell me it’s not just a hook up to you. But I know the truth.

  I put up with your sloppy attempts to make romantic moves on me. Most of the time, I’m secretly rolling my eyes. I exist in a world of illusions. Some are stronger than others, but in the end it’s all a lie.

  Nate’s routine is the same. He pretends to want to watch a movie with me, usually some foreign language film about Muay Thai. He makes a few attempted gropes at my chest, and then tries to enter me without a condom. He got away with it once, but now I’m onto his tricks.

  When he finishes, I feel disgusted with myself. Nausea bubbles in my stomach, as he rolls over and starts to snore. He doesn’t bother to say goodbye. I’m not the kind of girl that deserves the extra energy. I dress quietly and leave. I know he has roommates, but I’ve never seen any of them. Sometimes, I wonder if he does that intentionally. He’s never taken me anywhere public, despite fucking me off and on for the last few months. I walk out onto the street in front of his building, and light up a cigarette. Flipping through my phone, I find some music and start the walk home. Well, back to my park. I sit there and cry, lighting cigarette after cigarette.

  I will never be whole again.

  How did this become my life?

  1

  Declan

  “I was sleeping, asshole,” I mutter, standing and stretching my long legs out as I answer my ringing phone. I really needed to get a bigger bed; this full size mattress barely has room for half of my six foot and five inches long frame. Unfortunately, the apartment I could afford barely has room for the bed. It's a vicious circle.

  “Like I give a fuck…you still looking for a job?” Jake asks, as I hear him moving around, his voice lowering to almost a whisper. Knowing my brother and his whoring ways, he’s probably trying to sneak out from wherever he crashed last night.

  “Yeah, man, you got a lead?” I ask, making my way to my beloved coffee maker.

  “Yeah, Boss needs another bartender,” he says casually, as if his criminal mastermind of a boss hasn’t needed another bartender for the last year.

  “Are you fucking serious? What changed? That girl quit?” I start my Keurig while trying to remember her name. It started with a B, I think. She has been there since my brother was a newbie, and the guys all seem to love her. She’s also pretty hot, if I remember correctly, but she keeps to herself, and never runs her mouth about Ron’s business. That makes her invaluable.

  “Nah, she’s still there. Her douchebag boyfriend was the one who took off. He still hasn’t come back, and Boss was waiting to replace him out of respect for Bree, but she’s getting overwhelmed, managing the bar and working every damn day. Plus, we got a couple big meetings coming up.”

  I immediately stop all movement. “What kind of meetings?”

  There was always some wannabe criminal on the verge of a turf war with Ron, Jake’s boss. My brother’s experience working for Ron h
ad been relatively peaceful but the few times things had taken a violent turn, it almost always started with some kind of “meeting.”

  “Yeah, Boss says Tony wants peace, which means lots of meetings and lots of parties. There’s gonna be so much tail floating around. It's a win-win for you. Job makes bank, and more pussy than you’ll know what to—” Jake’s voice is abruptly cut off by a screeching noise.

  “WHAT THE FUCK, JAKE?” I hear a woman shouting. I can’t help but start laughing.

  Jake getting busted for sneaking out of some random’s apartment is highly entertaining to me. I’m a good brother like that. Fucking Jake and his inability to keep it in his pants. Fear of commitment would be an understatement. I understand his reasons, but I don’t agree with them. I want nothing more than to find the girl for me, and create my own family. God owes me a do-over after the shit family he gave me the first time around.

  “Fuck. I gotta bail. Come to the bar tonight, and Ron will hook you up. We need someone we can trust and you’re family.” Jake hangs up before I can respond.

  I want to remind him I’m not family anymore, not really. Sure, we share blood but Jake’s fellow thugs are his family now. When he decided to go work for Ron, he tried to talk me into joining with him, but I didn’t like the idea of having to follow someone else’s orders. I was done following someone else’s whims. I know I probably should have some moral reason, but the truth was that a life of crime didn’t bother me, not after everything I’d been through. But, if I was going to jail, I was going for myself, not someone else.

  With a sigh, I set my phone down on the counter next to my abandoned coffee. Rubbing my hands down my face, I try to decide if this is really what I want. Not too long ago, this job seemed like the best thing that could ever happen to me. Now, I know enough about Ron and the bar to realize it could be the most dangerous thing that ever happened to me as well. No, I take that back. Nothing could be more dangerous than living with my dad. I survived that asshole. I’ll survive this.

  My mind flashes back to Jake as a scrawny kid, crying as I shoved him under my bed, trying to hide him from our father. I didn’t always manage to hide him in time, but I always did my best. I’ve always been his big brother, his protector. Ron or not, this is my best chance to protect him, and to keep an eye on him.

  It doesn’t take me long to realize a run will clear my head. I usually run every morning, but had planned on sleeping in this morning. Thanks for killing that, Jake.

  I brush my dark, shoulder length hair, and pull it into a ponytail at the base of my neck, before I slip on gym shorts and my favorite running shirt. It says, “World’s Okayest Runner” and never fails to make me smile when I wear it. Stupid t-shirts are kind of my trademark, that and converse shoes. I have one pair of shit kicker boots and that’s it. All my other 15 pairs of shoes are converse. It’s been a real source of contention with my old girlfriends.

  At least working at Ron’s bar will probably mean no stupid uniforms. I know he and his guys wear suits most of the time, but the bar has always had a casual vibe. When I think about some of the dumb shit the other places I’ve bartended at have made me wear, I can’t help but shudder.

  Locking my apartment, I walk out onto the street and stretch while trying to decide how far I want to run. The fall weather is perfect for outdoor running. All too soon, I’ll be stuck on a treadmill in my apartment’s gym while the ground is covered in ice and snow. Considering that it’s most likely gonna be a late night, starting the new job and bartending can be pretty physical, I decide to keep it at around 3 miles. I smile when I hit my stride and my head clears. Running always came easy to me, and helped balance out my complete lack of discipline with food. It’s not long before my runner’s high hits, and I completely space out, going into the zone.

  When I’m cooled down, and finish stretching, my restlessness returns with a vengeance, and I don’t want to go home and just sit in my apartment. I remember there’s a park right around the corner, and decide I’ll go hang out for a bit to enjoy the weather a little longer.

  There’s only one bench in the small park, and there’s a young girl already sitting on it. I pause for a moment, trying to decide how creepy it would be to sit next to her, before deciding it’s not worth stressing about. It’s a public park, it’s daytime and I’m not going to bother her. I make a wide arc, coming to the bench from the side instead of from behind, so she can see me approaching.

  As I get closer, I realize she’s not as young as I originally thought; she’s definitely in her early twenties. She’s also dressed in all black, except her shoes. She’s wearing glitter-covered converse. It goes without saying she has my interest now. Her jeans are black, and look skin tight, with a few strategic rips in them, showing glimpses of firm thighs I would be more than willing to rub my face on. Her shirt is a mostly loose, black t-shirt that her small but perky breasts are pushing against. I steal a second glance to see if I can spot any nipple, and my cock perks up a little at the idea, but I quickly raise my eyes. She has hair so black it’s almost blue, loose and hanging over her shoulders in thick waves. She’s sporting a sleeve tattoo on her left arm and it’s hard to make it out from here, but it looks like a bunch of writing, which I find interesting. I always was a sucker for a girl with ink. I speed up the rest of my walk to the bench, and sit down on the opposite end.

  She turns her head, and my eyes quickly look up from perusing her body. Holy fuck! This chick is gorgeous. Her eyes are a pale blue, almost the same color as the irises my mom always kept in the house. She’s got them lined with that black shit that chicks love, and it only makes them seem brighter. What captures my attention about her eyes though, isn’t just how beautiful they are, but how haunted they look. There is sadness in them that I’ve never seen in someone so young. This girl is defeated. I recognize that look immediately, after spending so many years seeing it every day on the face of someone I loved. A feeling of protectiveness rises in me. I want to grab her and hold her. Tell her everything will be okay. I give my head a mental shake, and continue taking in the rest of her face. Her lips are painted bright red. Some girls can’t pull off the look, but she makes it look effortless. I won’t lie, and say I’m not imagining those red lips sliding up and down my cock.

  I shift my legs, trying to get comfortable and conceal my growing erection. I’m not a small guy, and my running shorts won’t hide shit. I look back up at her, and am relieved that she seems to have missed my adjustment. Something about her seems familiar though, especially when I take in her all black clothes again and those shiny converse. Those shoes are killing me; they are obviously proof we’re soulmates.

  She has a small piercing in her nose, and her eyebrows are currently raised like I scared the shit out of her. Fuck, maybe she did catch my ill-timed boner.

  “Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Dec, well, Declan but everyone calls me Dec.” I’m fucking babbling. Jesus, what’s wrong with me?

  “You didn’t scare me. I was just leaving anyway.” She starts to rise, completely ignoring my attempt at an introduction.

  “Look, don't run off just because I sat here, too. I can be quiet and let you enjoy the um…” I glance at the mostly brown grass and rusted out swing set. “The view.”

  The corner of her mouth turns up slightly into a smirk, and I mentally high-five myself for getting a reaction. I can already tell this is a chick that will make me work for anything I get.

  “Can you really be quiet? I come here to think when I can’t take…” She cuts herself off, and her cheeks get a tinge of pink. She exhales sharply and continues, “When I get tired of sitting in the apartment.”

  I find something about the way she said that odd, but I can’t quite figure out which part, and I immediately decide to let that go. Clearly, she’s got something going on, sitting here in her all black outfit and shiny shoes… and that’s when it hits me. I know her.

  “Hey, you’re the bartender, right? You work at Keegan’s?” Odd nam
e for a bar, I know, but Keegan was Ron’s son. He died ten years ago, at 14, from cancer. Ron named the bar after him and, even though I think naming a bar after your kid is kind of odd, I don’t judge Ron for it.

  “I don’t know, do I?” she asks, her face immediately turns to stone, and she meets my gaze dead on. I realize how bad this looks. A random guy approaches her on the bench, sits next to her, and starts asking her about the bar she works at, a bar anyone worth anything knows belongs to Ron.

  “Hey, I’m not a cop or anything. My brother works for Ron. His name is Jake, and he’s always hanging out with Greg.” I spit out the name of my brother’s best friend like it’s a curse. It would be a complete lie for me to say I’m not jealous of their relationship. When Jake started working for Ron, Greg was assigned as his partner, and he quickly became my replacement. The two of them are always together; they even seemed to have their own secret language. If I didn’t know Jake slept with basically every girl he met, I would have thought they were a couple or something.

  Her face remains unreadable, but her eyes are smiling, when she stands. “I don’t know a Jake or a Greg. Have a good one.” She gives me a parting flick of her wrist. I think it was supposed to be a wave, but it definitely came off as more of a dismissal, and then she starts walking toward the apartment building across from the park.

  That was definitely B Girl, the bartender Jake and I were talking about earlier. Ron owns that building, though few people know that. I’m sure Ron put her up in that when he hired her. He would want to be able to keep an eye on his employees, especially one that worked in the bar. It was a poorly kept secret that his office was in the back of Keegan’s. I’m also pretty sure I remember Jake saying something about her being a runaway when she started working for Ron. I smile, watching her disappear as quickly as she can. Just like that, the decision to work for Ron is sealed. Little does she know, she’s going to be seeing a lot more of me…starting tonight.