Sacrifice Read online




  Sacrifice

  Copyright (c) Adriana Locke, 2015

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of the book.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art:

  Kari March, K23 Designs

  www.facebook.com/designK23

  Cover Photos:

  Dollar Photo Club

  www.dollarphotoclub.com

  Editing:

  Ashley Amigoni, Escapist Freelance Editing

  www.facebook.com/AshleyAmigoniFreelanceEditor

  Interior Design and Formatting:

  Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable

  www.perfectlypublishable.com

  Sacrifice

  Also by Adriana Locke

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Epilogue

  Epilogue #2

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  The Exception

  More Contemporary Romance

  The Exception (The Exception Series Book #1)

  Purchase from Amazon

  The Connection (The Exception Series Book #1.5)

  Purchase from Amazon

  The Perception (The Exception Series Book #2)

  Purchase from Amazon

  To my children, affectionately known as the A-Team.

  No matter what I do in my life, you will always be my greatest accomplishment. Your lives give mine meaning and a wholeness that can never be replicated.

  You are my world, my heart, and my soul. For you, I would sacrifice it all.

  Love you forever,

  Mommy

  CREW

  The slush crunches beneath my boots, my breath billowing away from my body.

  I bow my head deeper, pulling the hood of my sweatshirt out from under my jacket to cover more of my face. I toggle the paper sack in my other arm, hoping nothing spills out on the wet asphalt. Remnants of the last snow are piled beneath the trees and mound in the shadows of the large apartment complexes looming above.

  The neighborhood is alive despite the bitter cold. People sit on the porches of their apartments and duplexes, some toking shit that sure as fuck isn’t tobacco. Smoke rolls from the chimneys of the few single family houses in the area. Most of them are dilapidated, nearly rotting to the ground.

  I grit my teeth.

  I hate that they live here.

  The apartment comes into view. A wooden chair is placed at the right of the door, a faded red and yellow striped pillow sitting on it. The steps of the porch are piss-poor and I have to sidestep the second one. The right side has a gash splitting the wood and I’m pretty certain if I stepped on it, I would fall through. I grimace and make a note to call her landlord. Piece of shit might not give two fucks about this place now, but he will.

  I’ll make sure of it.

  I bang against the door with my knuckle. It is a cold fucking day, even for Boston at the end of February. It made for a long day unloading cargo at the shipyard. The afternoon warmed a little, but now that the sun is going down, the chill is biting through my Carhartt jacket. I bring my hands to my mouth and rub them together, blowing on them to warm them up.

  I knock again, getting impatient. I hear music playing on the other side of the wood, the John Mayer stuff she’s always loved.

  A loud commotion, something like a piece of wood smashing something followed by a scream, comes from the apartment next door. Cold and irritated, I turn the handle to give it a flick, thinking the jingle will make her give in and open it. My jaw tenses when it begins to swing free. A chip of paint from the door falls to the tile below.

  What the hell is she thinking?

  I walk in, brushing the hood off my head and scan the kitchen. The music is playing from her phone on the counter and a pot of something bubbles on the old gas stove. I notice that she’s got a sink full of dishes, which isn’t like her. She’s normally spot-on when it comes to details, taking care of everything she can control. It can be annoying as hell, but I figure it’s some kind of reaction to all the shit she’s not able to control in her life.

  I plop the bag down on the table, rattling the basket of apples that sat upon it. When she comes around the corner, her brown eyes go wide as she grabs at the doorframe, obviously not expecting me.

  “Damn it, Crew!” Julia says, clutching her chest with one hand. Her shoulders relax and a small sigh escapes her lips. I’m cautiously optimistic that maybe she’s relieved to see me, but it’s short-lived.

  She throws her shoulders back and narrows her eyes. I don’t know exactly what effect it was supposed to have on me, but it’s a good thing I don’t really care.

  “Lock your fucking door,” I growl, returning her glare. “You’re lucky it’s me and not some asshole from one of the apartments across the street.”

  “Lucky it’s you.” Sarcasm is thick in her voice as she shakes her head, her long black locks swinging side-to-side. She walks toward the stove and shuts off the music.

  I crack the paper bag with the back of my hand, making her flinch. “I brought you some stuff.”

  “Stop bringing me stuff.”

  She keeps her back to me, picking up a lid and slamming it on a pot. I know she’s not happy to see me because she never is.

  Tough shit.

  “Where’s the monkey?” I ask.

  “In the living room.”

  Her words come out flat, but I’m used to it. I don’t expect anything more from her.

  I can’t.

  “Everleigh! Come here, baby girl,” she calls.

  It’s such a natural thing, a mother calling her kid in for
supper. It seems like just a normal part of an ordinary life. But I know the truth.

  Appearances can be deceiving, but I enjoy the moment of deception. I’ll take what I can get.

  A few seconds later, the sound of little feet come running into the kitchen. “Uncle Crew!”

  I kneel on one knee as she runs to me, her black hair flowing behind her.

  “Uncle Crew!” she yells again and falls wildly in my arms, nuzzling her face into my cold jacket. I grab the zipper and yank it down, afraid the frozen metal will sting her little face.

  My lips find her forehead as she wraps her arms around me. I hold her close, brushing back her hair, breathing in the smell of bubble gum that I’ve come to associate with my little niece. “How are ya, monkey?”

  “I’m good,” she giggles, pulling back and looking at me expectantly. “Did you bring me something?”

  “Everleigh Nicole!” Julia reprimands her. “Have some manners!”

  “But it’s Uncle Crew.” She bats her eyelashes at her mother, who rolls her eyes in response. “You did bring me something, didn’t ya?” She looks at me again, a grin splitting her cheeks.

  I could never say no to this kid. She could ask me for the fuckin’ moon and I’d figure out a way to get it.

  “Come on. You know I brought ya something.”

  Everleigh giggles and bounces up and down, her arms folded across the front of her Tinkerbell shirt. I reach in the bag and fish through the groceries and pull out a coloring book and a box of crayons. I really have no idea what the pictures are about, but it’s the only one they had at the store.

  “Yay!” she squeals, holding them up in the air so Julia can see them. “Thank you! I’ll color you something beautiful and you can hang it at your house.”

  “You’re welcome.” I hold her gaze and give her a little nod to let her know our routine was still on. She tries to wink at me, but both eyes just flutter a few times. It takes everything I have not to laugh.

  As soon as Julia turns her back, I slip her a banana Laffy Taffy and she kisses my cheek. She does her best sneaky walk back into the living room to avoid being caught with candy before supper.

  I watch her go. Her long dark hair, just like her mother’s, almost touches her waist. She’s so much like Julia. She has the same heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, and the same graceful way about her.

  Even so, there is so much about Everleigh that is like my brother. She’s tall, like Gage, towering over most of her five-year-old friends. Her eyes are the same color, like the sky over the harbor on a really clear day. But the thing about my niece that reminds me most of my brother is her soul. Just like Gage, Ever is wise beyond her years. She’s ridiculously smart and more mature than I probably was until I was in my twenties.

  My brother loved her so damn much.

  I release a sigh and lean against the battered refrigerator and feel it settle against my weight.

  Julia ignores me, working at the stove. She’s tied her hair back and I can see the stress in her shoulders, her posture defiant. She used to look that way in high school when she’d come to the house after a fight with her asshole parents. I hate seeing it now as much as I hated seeing it then. The only difference is now I have no one to blame but myself.

  “You okay?” I ask, wondering if she will even respond to me. Sometimes she does. Sometimes she doesn’t.

  It’s been a long two years since our worlds fell apart, but we’ve come to some sort of unspoken understanding. I’ve accepted that she’s gonna hate me for the rest of her life. She’s accepted that I won’t go away. We’ve made some progress over time. She doesn’t threaten me with a restraining order anymore. I don’t get pissed at her refusal to cooperate. I just do what I’m going to do and she huffs but accepts it. Progress.

  “Jules?” I ask again, watching her warily. I normally don’t press, just drop off what I have and dash. Today, though, she seems more beaten down. I know she’s probably missing him this week even more than usual, because I am, too. That makes me want to go get a drink, but I can’t leave her without making sure she’s all right. I owe her that much. “You okay?”

  I see her set the spoon down and bow her head, and I brace myself for the unknown.

  “Peachy.”

  Her voice is so low that I can almost not even hear her. She grasps onto the counter on either side of the stove and doesn’t move.

  I chew on my lip and watch her, wait on her to give me some indication as to what she’s thinking. She gives me nothing to go on. “Need anything?”

  “No, Crew,” she said, whirling around on her heel, “I don’t.” Her eyes are on fire, blazing with some emotion I can’t pinpoint. “And I didn’t need my tires changed this morning either.”

  “What are ya talkin’ about?” I ask, feigning ignorance. I know she’s gonna bust my balls, but it’s not like I had a choice. I couldn’t take the chance of her driving Everleigh around on the roads with bald tires.

  “So you didn’t send Will to my office this morning to get my car? Nice of him to ask for my keys in front of half the department. Well played. How was I supposed to argue with him without causing a damn scene?”

  I shrug.

  “Stop doing this. Please. I can take care of myself.”

  We have a standoff, our gazes having the conversation neither of us wants to have. She’s telling me she’s not the little girl I once knew. But it’s not like I don’t know that. She might’ve grown up, but the woman she’s turned into has a helluva lot to do with the decisions I’ve made.

  There are so many mother fucking things I’d change if I could figure out how.

  But I can’t.

  “How is she?” I ask with a nod to the living room, trying to change the topic.

  Julia sighs, exhaustion flashing across her face. “She’s okay. She wasn’t feeling good this morning, so she stayed with Mrs. Bennett.”

  “Olivia? The neighbor lady?”

  “Yes. She seems better tonight, though.” She gives me a hint of a smile before her gaze drops to the floor. “Ever loves when you come by, so I’m sure she’ll be happy tonight. She likes you.”

  The insinuation smacks me hard in the chest.

  “She’s been missing him a lot lately.”

  Our conversations don’t normally make it to discussing Gage unless we’re already arguing. The fact that she just brought it up shocks me and I’m not comfortable with it. I don’t know how to take it. I feel my jaw pulse with frustration and scramble to change the subject again. “Why is it so chilly in here?”

  Julia’s smile disappears and she tugs her sweatshirt nervously. “I didn’t know it was.”

  “How can you possibly not know?” I start to the thermostat across the room when she clears her throat.

  “The heater isn’t working right. I asked my landlord to come by and look at it earlier this week.”

  “And he hasn’t been here yet?” I shoot her a look and she shakes her head. “He’ll be here tonight.” I dig my cell out of my pocket.

  “Crew, don’t. Please. The last time you called my landlord he was a complete jerk to me for a couple of months. I just got on good terms with him again.”

  I scroll through my contacts list, looking for his name.

  “Crew . . .” I know her doe-eyes are pleading with me. I also know if I look up at her, I’ll be somewhat inclined to give in.

  So I don’t.

  JULIA

  I finish another fairytale about a poor princess meeting a benevolent prince. They are Everleigh’s favorite bedtime stories. When I think back to my childhood, they were mine, too. I used to lay at night with my eyes squeezed shut, creating stories of a knight in shining armor coming to my rescue. He’d climb up the trellis outside my bedroom and knock four times on my window. I’m not sure why four times, but it always was. I’d rush to the glass and he’d guide me down and away from my parents.

  Those stories are what little girl’s dreams are made of. What they have yet to le
arn is when you have those dreams in the palm of your hand and they unravel, they are what nightmares are made of, too.

  I plop the book beside me on Everleigh’s sheets. She’s beside me, fresh out of the bath, smelling like strawberry bubblegum. She snuggles in close to my side with the stuffed monkey she’s had since she was born curled up against her. I brush her hair out of her face and she smiles up at me.

  “Do you think I could meet a prince one day, Mommy? And I could be a beautiful princess and live in a castle?”

  I smile at her innocence.

  She’ll learn soon enough.

  “You never know.”

  “Are there real princes?” Her eyes glisten with excitement and I wish I could keep her this age, keep her this unaffected, forever.

  “Sure, baby. There are still princes in the world.”

  “Like Daddy?”

  My heart swells in my chest as she brings him up, not an uncommon topic for bedtime. There’s something about the peace of the routine, the quiet moments right before sleep, which has her uttering Gage’s name. She’s been talking about him a lot recently, more than just at bedtime. Although I’m not sure why, I do know that regardless of the fact that it’s been almost two years, it still never fails to bring tears to my eyes. Just the thought of my husband creates a cascade of emotions I’ve just barely learned how to deal with.

  “Yes, sweetheart. Like your daddy.”

  “Do you think Butterscotch is in heaven with him?”

  I nod. “Yes. I bet Daddy is taking care of your kitty.” I smile at my little girl and force a swallow past the lump in my throat. “And I bet he’s watching you right now and probably thinks you should be going to sleep.”

  She smiles at me, her crooked grin looking so much like Gage it physically hurts. “And Uncle Crew? He’s a prince, too?”

  It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes.

  She looks down, playing with her monkey and I hope she’s done with the topic.

  Besides me, Crew is all the family she has. Her paternal grandparents are dead and mine will never know her. They’re too in love with the bottom of bottles to ever trust around my daughter. I know the pain of seeing them get sloshed, the torment of listening to their verbal assaults, the burning sensation of having your arm squeezed so tightly you have to make up stories as to how you got the large bruises for weeks after. They haven’t seen Ever since the week she was born. When they call on the rare occasion, it’s because they need something. It’s never because they want to see me or my daughter. Sometimes I wonder if they even remember Everleigh exists.