Only for Her Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  COPYRIGHT

  ONLY FOR HER

  ONLY SERIES: VOLUME TWO

  CRISTIN HARBER

  CHAPTER ONE

  Emma

  There's a very good chance that, standing here in the knee-high grass surrounding Randall Ford's rusted trailer, I'm going to be sick. It looks the same as it did the night I ran from Grayson’s bed, the same as when I showed up after beach week three years ago, worried sick and looking for him. Both of those times, Randall made my life hell. I keep waiting for that demented, drunk bastard to die, but he just keeps living.

  Ragtag curtains are pulled over the windows. Burnt-orange rust stains streak down from the roof line. I steel myself. According to Summerland County gossip, Grayson died. But that doesn’t mean much. The county grapevine also said he left town because he knocked me up. I almost wish that was true—how awful had that morning been, waking up without him. Gray was gone—but not because he knew I was pregnant.

  The front door snaps open. Randall steps out, only to stop and lean against the door frame. He looks ancient compared to the last time I saw him, when I nerved up and asked where Grayson was. His cackling response and door slam is still burned into my memory.

  “You again?” Randall coughs.

  I nod. This jerk holds the answer. He’s sadistic. It’s written all over his haggard face. His glassy eyes narrow, his mouth purses into some kind of smile, and he looks as if he stinks of a bar.

  I straighten my back and square my shoulders. I have one question—might as well get to it. “Is Grayson dead?”

  Inwardly, I cringe. Saying the words makes them seem all the more real. Tears spring into my eyes. I need to know, need to mourn. I’m drowning without the truth. All I know is what people have whispered and that there’s been no word of a funeral.

  Randall pulls a smoke from behind his ear and lights it. He takes a few long drags and steps down the rickety porch. “You come all the way o’er here jussfer that? Shit.” He spits then draws on the cigarette again. “Gotta be better ways than to bother me wit that sonobitch’s problems.”

  I might want to puke with nerves, but I’ve toughened up in the last few years since he’s seen me. “That sonobitch is your son, Randall. I know exactly how you treated him.”

  “My son. Ha.” He tilts his head. “Little Emma Kingsley grew a set, did she?”

  “What do you know about Grayson?”

  “What do you know?” He snarls as he coughs. “Come here to see if that bastard of his can get whatever’s left of his benefits?”

  My stomach drops, and I stagger back, recoiling at the mention of my daughter and the all-but-certain confirmation of Gray’s passing. “Something’s wrong with you.”

  “Blame the boy. I do.” He flicks his cigarette at me and turns for the door but looks back. “Stop coming by. There’s nothing here for you.”

  The wind blows, and even though it’s a warm June day, I’m shivering. So much hatred. So much disgust. Part of me can’t blame Grayson for leaving. The trailer door snaps shut, and I’m left standing in weeds, wondering how I’ll move past the death of a man I haven’t seen in years but think about every day.

  Grayson

  Trapped in the dark. I’m exhausted and struggling, reaching for escape. I keep surfacing, almost waking. I know it. Can feel it. My body hurts. My mind’s tortured.

  Screams echo. Shots blast. I feel the heat, the burn, the terror. The ground shakes. Walls and rocks crumble down. Dirt in my eyes, grit in my mouth. Sulfur burns in my nose. I can’t see anyone, and they can’t see me.

  But I feel it. Feel them. Everyone I’ve let down. My unit. Their blood hangs in the air. Death coats my senses. Their faces flash, one after the other. I can’t close my eyes, can’t break away.

  There’s a break in the noise. A woman… in the middle of my hell, I hear a voice. Hope flourishes only to freeze and tear away. She’s not my savior. Not my Emma.

  Just… my mother?

  Just another one, Gray-baby. Find me another one.

  One more time, sweetie. Such a good boy. Bring it to me.

  I’m going to be sick. War is better than the living room of my childhood. Desperate fear chokes me. I’m torn. Confused. I want her to stop, to go away, to get help. To stop guilting me. I want to help Mom as much as I wanted to save my unit.

  I blink in the dark, fight to get away. Her sweet voice calls me, and I can’t say no.

  Bring me one more, Gray-baby.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. Tears clog my throat. I always did what she said, and I killed her. Dead. Eyes wide open. Lipsticked mouth hung slack. Dead.

  “Mom!” I scream but know my mouth isn’t moving. I’m trapped in the dark, fighting a body that won’t wake up. “Mom!”

  Then, with sudden clarity, I see her face. “Gray-baby.”

  “No!” A cold shudder runs through me, and I can’t break free.

  Extraction team voices mix with my Pops’s. Their words are a blur, indistinguishable, but I know their meaning. Everything is my fault.

  My head hurts. Pain radiates. If I can’t wake up, I want to die.

  Pops’s voice spins in my head, his words a tumble of nonsense mixed with his drunk cackle.

  “Help her!” Her lifeless face stares at me. It morphs to the desert night where I was the last man standing. “Help them…”

  Nothing changes. I fall away from the edge of waking into the hell that I deserve. The only thing that could ever save me was Emma’s voice, and I’ve lost that forever.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Emma

  Business Statistics is going to kill me. The formulas in my textbook make even less sense now that they’re scrawled across a whiteboard at the front of the classroom. The professor hasn’t bothered to show up to class all semester, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure that his assistant is as well versed in this crap as me. My brain will explode soon if I can’t figure this out.

  “If you have questions, follow up with Professor Baker during office hours. Thanks.” The assistant tosses down the dry erase marker and heads out the door before a single question can be answered.

  Ugh. I’m going to fail this class, which means I’ll lose my internship. I might only do assistant shit, but pouring coffee and taking notes will pay off one day, semesters from now, with a creative job at the only decent marketing firm within a twenty-five mile radius. I need this internship because I need that job. One day.

  And I’m never going to make it to office hours. Ever.

  Shit, shoot, shit. I bite my lip and slam my book shut.

  “Makes as much sense to you as me.”

  I look over my shoulder. Two guys. One’s cute, my age. Seems popular enough. He always sits near me and more than occasionally catches my eye and smiles. The other is super-hot and an asshole. I don’t have time to chat with either of them, but unlucky for me, the guy trying for conversation is the hot asshole.

  “Something like that,” I say. No need to be rude, but I’ve seen him in action in the halls. I shove my stuff in my bag and check my phone. I have seventeen minutes to make it across campus, get Cally, and load us into the car. Then, if there’s no traffic, we can do a quick dinner and bath before she goes to bed and my mom comes over so I can go to work.r />
  When I walk out the classroom door, the hottie’s feet follow.

  “Hey, wait up.”

  I don’t. Can’t. I’m on a schedule.

  He’s by my side, his arm wrapping around my back. “Gorgeous, wait—”

  “Hands off.” If there’s one thing that stripping at Emerald’s has taught me, it’s not to take shit from hot guys who put their hands on me. I might look and act like a wallflower at school, but that’s a façade.

  “Sorry.” He easily keeps pace with my power walk.

  I glance at him and his confident smile. “You normally get away with pet names and touching people you don’t know?”

  His smile broadens. “Usually.”

  My eyes roll. “Right. I’m late. So… I can’t help with stats.”

  “Actually, this class is a piece of cake for me. I was just trying to get your attention.”

  Ha. “I really have to go.”

  “What’s your name? Emma, right?”

  “Oh my god. Seriously, you… don’t want this conversation. I’ll make it easy for you. Walk away. You’ll be thankful.”

  His eyes twinkle, and a challenge sparkles in his eyes. “Let me be the judge of that. Bunch of us are getting some beers tonight down at Seven’s. It’d be cool to hang out.”

  I try to walk faster, making me slightly out of breath, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. “Not twenty-one yet.”

  “They don’t care.”

  This I already know about Seven’s but not from experience. “I can’t.”

  “Gorgeous, you can.”

  The second gorgeous pisses me off, then his hand touches my back and curls around my shoulder to slow me down. I stop abruptly and turn toward his mega-watt smile. He thinks he knows the next move. A mixture of cocky and sexy radiates off him and makes me think he doesn’t have to try too hard. Hell, he looks so self-assured that I bet he wouldn’t be surprised if I dropped to my knees in public to get a taste of him. Jerk.

  My molars gnash, and I take a breath. Adding the same bit of sex to my voice that I use at Emerald’s, I ask, “What’s your name?”

  “Sam—”

  “Look, Sam. I was polite, but then you pushed. I said don’t touch, and you did. So now you get the full explanation that I tried to warn you about.” His mouth opens to say something, but I shake my head. “I work three jobs. Three. And only two pay. I’m busting my behind across campus to get to day care. To pick up my daughter. Whose daddy just died. I’m mourning him even though I haven’t seen him in years. I’m the walking, talking, breathing definition of baggage.”

  Sam’s jaw continues to hang. “Uh…”

  “Thanks for the invite. But when a chick tells you to back off, it might be that she’s not playing coy. It’s that she wants you to back the hell off. Get me?”

  “Shit. Sorry,” he mumbles.

  Yeah, I bet.

  “If you want…” But he trails off, and I’m walking away anyhow.

  I don’t want anything from anyone. I can and do support myself and my baby, though it’s almost killing me. Taking help is hard. I have my pride, but I’m also mired in my own version of punishment. Carelessness isn’t an excuse to take from others. I flat-out refuse cash from my family, though I do accept their time and help. They watch Cally a few times a week, but only so I can earn a living. Not so I can go have drinks with hot guys who want to sneak me into bars.

  My phone buzzes, caller ID reading Delightful Diner.

  I hit the green circle to take the call. “Hello?”

  “Hey, honey.” Jan, the lady who owns the place, only calls about shift changes. “Don’t need you in tonight. Things are too slow.”

  Shoot… “You sure? I can work whatever hours you need.”

  “I know, Emma. Sorry, honey. Don’t need any hours tonight.”

  I chew the inside of my cheek. “No problem. Call me if that changes. I’ll be there.”

  “Know you will, honey.”

  My stomach sinks. I really needed that shift. My phone buzzes again, and I check the screen, hoping it’s Jan again. Nope. Just my brother.

  “Hey, Ryan.”

  “You’re moving.”

  “Ha. No. I’m planning on moving soon.” But not when diner shifts keep getting canceled. “I just have to—”

  “Look, Emma, I had another call out to your complex today. Dad and I were talking—”

  I love Ryan, but that brand-new, shiny rookie badge is going to drive me insane. “My apartment is safe. You know that.”

  “It’s your neighbors who are sketch. A couple years ago, it was fine. Now? Shit changes.”

  “Not telling me anything I don’t already know,” I mumble and push open the door for day care, waving at the girl at the desk. “I have to go. Cally and I are running behind.”

  “Dad put first and last month’s down for you. You can afford everything in between. Sign the paperwork. You can move in immediately.”

  “What!” I spin away from the receptionist, ready to tear into him then call my dad to do the same. But I can’t. God, I’m grateful. I hate needing them, but I’m drowning. I pull in a breath and drop my head.

  “Emma, you need a break. Take it, okay?”

  “Ryan, I don’t…”

  “You’re month-to-month now, right? Almost the same rent, so you have no reason not to.”

  It would be so nice to leave that apartment, and I’ve been saving so one day I could. “I want to do it myself.”

  “Emma, look… I owe you.”

  He’s been even more protective since we all heard about Grayson. It’s weird. When Ryan found out I was pregnant, I thought he would be sick, then I was scared he would kill Gray and his chances at the police academy. But eventually Ryan calmed down, in a very protective kind of way. Grayson was a name not to be mentioned around Ryan, but now that it’s back in circulation, thanks to county gossip, the protective claws are back.

  “No, sweetie. It’s me who owes everyone,” I say.

  He huffs, sounding frustrated in my ear. “Please sign the lease. We’ll take care of the move.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Dammit, Emma. Just say yes.”

  Whoa. “Easy there.”

  “You’re my baby sister. This is… just something I have to help you do.”

  I hate the baby sister argument. “We’re almost the same age.”

  “I’m responsible for you.”

  This again. God love him. “No. You’re not. But I’ll talk to Dad, okay? See what I can do. Deal?”

  “One day we’ll all be on the same page.” He sighs. “Kiss Cally for me.”

  “Mommy!”

  I turn toward Cally’s voice. “Gotta go. Love ya. Bye.”

  My little girl’s running toward me, arms outstretched. I scoop her into a hug, sign her out, and hit the door.

  “You have a good time with your friends?” I ask.

  “No! My hair got pwulled and I cwolored on da wall.” Cally took a breath. “Timeout for me.”

  Rolling my lips to hide my smile, I can’t stand how stinking cute she is. Even if it’s her explaining why she was in time out. “Probably shouldn’t have drawn on the wall.”

  “Mommy.” She buries her head into my shoulder as we head toward the parking lot. “I wanna go to sleep. Story?”

  Oh… I sigh. “Sure thing, snugglebug.”

  A story makes her bad day go away. My heart squeezes. Like daddy, like daughter.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Grayson

  Aches and pains. It’s the only thing I can register. That, and my tongue feels like sandpaper. Slowly, I blink my eyes open. Everything is white. Searing light streams through a window. I look down and around. I’m in bed. In a hospital? Equipment is on both sides of me, monitors hooked to my arms and chest. Taking a deep breath, I turn and—oh, damn. Pain slices through my side. I moan, fight to catch my breath, and drop back.

  My mind struggles to find the missing pieces, and a headache throbs. Dark flashe
s of action and memories of the insurgent attack—the voices, the screams. Everyone’s dead. Everyone… except me? Empty clips and useless weapons. By the time the extraction team arrived, I was the last man standing.

  Constant pain consumes me. Gunshot wound? The memory of exploding pain surfaces. What else… broken ribs? Cracked bones? Have to be, because I can’t breathe. But still, I’m alive. Out of everyone, why me?

  Emma.

  I shake my head. A cold sweat drenches me. I had begged God to let me make it right. To stay alive and see my girl. A desperate shudder runs through me. It’s too late. It has to be. It’s been three fuckin’ years since I last saw her. They’ve been hell. I bitched out on a shot at love, at happiness. She’s not my girl. Not anymore.

  All alone, I come apart.

  Emma would’ve waited for me after basic, would’ve waited through these goddamn deployments. I’m a self-fulfilling fuckin’ prophecy. I’m everything Pops expected: a piece of shit, not good enough to do anything but ruin lives, ruin myself. I’ve been out fightin’ and doing my damnedest to forget that I love her. That I was too pussy, too jacked in the head to mumble the word “good-bye” and hope that she’d wait.

  Nausea hits me. Regret shreds me. Emma’s moved on. Why wait for a man who never came back to bed? A girl like her probably has a boyfriend. Or a husband? Bile burns my throat. My hands tear into my hair, and my pain spikes again. How had I never thought about her moving on?

  “You’re up!” A nurse walks in, heading for a bottle on the wall, and snaps me from a nervous breakdown. She squirts sanitizer on her hands, rubs them together, then snaps on gloves. “Time to take a look at your side, honey.”

  I groan, hands still in my hair.

  “You okay? Remembering again?” She sits on a rolling chair and scoots over.

  “What?”

  “Memory still foggy? That’s the painkillers. Give it a few minutes. The cobwebs will disappear.”

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t remember this woman. Flashbacks hit me… cracked ribs. Discharge papers. Maybe? I can’t remember what’s real, what’s a dream.