A Long Time Coming
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Authors: Heather van Fleet
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Sunshine Press
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A Long Time Coming
Copyright ©2013, Heather Van Fleet
Edited by Julie
Wilcox
ISBN: 978-1-939978-26-4
This is
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A Long Time Coming
Perfect Timing Series: Book
Two
Heather Van Fleet
To my husband, Chris. Because without your
support this book never would have happened. I'll love you today, tomorrow, and
always.
Contents
Abigail Orson has a problem. A love problem to
be precise; and she has absolutely no idea how to go about fixing it.
For years now, she has been chasing her best
friend’s brother—demanding things from him that he’s never wanted to give. For
one? A real relationship that surpasses well beyond that dreaded ‘just friends’
zone. You see, David Anderson is her idea of perfection to a T. The one and
only guy who has ever had the ability to make her heart beat faster; make her
toes curl with the simple blink of his long, girly lashes. But David is also a
recovering amputee, and the only thing he really wants from Abigail is to be
left alone. Abigail is a fighter though, and losing the one guy who has ruined
her for every other is no longer an option.
A guy with one leg who has lost his motivation
to live—to love—to actually
be
a man. David believes he’s a waste of
space. If only the beautiful girl of his unattainable dreams would get that
through her perfect, blonde, stubborn head! He’s not the right guy for Abigail.
He’ll never be worthy of what she deserves. However, staying away is almost
impossible, especially when he’s just as in love with her as she is with him.
But Abigail has a life ahead of her, one that’s definitely livable without a
nineteen–year–old gimp like him holding her down. What makes her want to stick
around is beyond questionable to David’s mind.
Choices will be made. Lines will be drawn. And
together, they will face challenges that nobody saw coming. David and Abigail
may have had almost fourteen years to fall in love, but the thing is, timing
and love have never exactly worked in their favor.
It has been years in the making, and definitely
A Long Time Coming for David and Abigail. Let’s hope they don’t screw it up
before they actually have the chance to get it right…
October, 2011
I can’t make it much longer,
David, please hurry.
The words were like written
scripts of poison, brightening up the face of his cell phone. His heavy foot
sank down against the accelerator, while his stomach churned with trepidation
and a shit ton of anger. Damn, Harley. Why’d she have to go to that party in
the first place? She was broken—a shattered mess that wouldn’t heal for
shit—and the last thing she needed to do, was to go out, especially tonight.
But he’d do anything for his
sister. He loved her more than he loved anyone in the entire universe. So when
she’d come to him earlier in the day, begging him to cover for her with their
parents, he had no choice but to give her what she wanted. David couldn’t stand
to see his twin so miserable, and if the simple prospect of going to a
farmhouse party twenty miles out of town had the ability to ease her ache on
this dreaded six–month anniversary, then he wasn’t about to keep her from
going.
Unfortunately he was realizing
too late how big of a fucking mistake this actually was. Three crying phone
calls, followed by multiple text messages that scared the absolute shit out of
him; Harley was belligerent, drunker than a monkey’s fucking uncle, and now
here he was, out on some random road outside Hillsdale, at two in the morning
driving to pick her ass up.
On the outside, the girl put
on a front that said,
Hey, look at me, I’m awesome; I’m completely over the
fact that my boyfriend committed suicide just six months ago today.
But
David knew the truth—felt it deep in his soul because he was also living
through it himself. His sister would never again be the person she was before
her boyfriend died. He shook his head at the thought. Nobody would be the same,
actually. Aiden had been his best friend, the only dude he could ever really
count on to be straight with him. He’d stood by David, supported him with
football and always encouraged him to be on top of his game. He wasn’t going to
lie—he missed the holy hell out of the guy. But he was also pissed—pissed
because he’d taken his own life with a gun to his head. Too selfish to think
about the people he’d leave behind after he was dead and buried in the ground,
Aiden simply let a his bi–polar disease win out before asking for help.
Slamming his fist into the
wheel, David ripped the tires of his car through the gravel as he weaved in and
out of a path of trees sitting at random along the way. The thought of his
sister lying there in the darkness, alone in some strange dude’s bedroom, had
his speed gauge pushing ninety.
Fog filtered over the road,
dark surrounding tree branches loomed overhead. Ominous was the scene as he
sped past the dark shadows of the one–lane graveled road he rarely had
traveled. With his brights on, he flew forward, praying the shortcut would get
him there faster than taking the interstate.
The rain was a steady pitter
patter against his windshield, and the sound of old country music lilted over
the speakers. But he was too on edge to change the channel, too worried that he
wouldn’t get to her in time. No texts had come through in the past ten minutes,
and his redundant cell phone checking just to see if she’d sent another was
grating on his nerves. But the last one still sat there like a broken record
with no sound, teasing his eyes and creating a fear that rivaled death
throughout his chest.
“Dammit, Harley, what the hell
are you doing?”
Filtering through the
possibilities in his head of how bad things might have gotten, David half
wondered if he should have just broken the promise he’d made to Harley, and
woken their mom and dad after all. They’d take care of things—especially their
dad. Those two were the epitome of an almost perfect set of parents, and he
loved the hell out of them.
He swallowed the traitorous
groan of anxiety that balled like a bitch in his throat, just as the relieving
sound of a ding echoed from the passenger seat. He blew out a breath as his
pulse skyrocketed against his veins. He reached for the phone. Thank fuck…the
girl had finally texted back. Cringing, he read the words.
I’m tired. I’m gonna sleep
now.
“No! No–no–no! Dammit, Harley !”
Lifting his left knee to take control of the wheel, he tapped out a message
with his fingers.
Almost there.
There, that was enough—it had
to be. But with the one swipe of the send button, the one single diversion of
his eyes from the road, David’s life flashed before him, appearing like a ten
second movie trailer. A deer—a buck with huge–ass antlers—had pranced its big
Bambi ass into the path of his racing car.
“Shit!” he yelled, swerving to
miss it, only to lose control of his car instead.
He pulled and pushed against
the steering wheel, cussing the damn brakes as he did. But not a single motion
could keep his car from flipping. All odds were against him. The gravel was wet
from the rain, the tires were bald, and at speeds well above ninety, the car
took on a mind of its own.
There would be no second
chances now.
There would be no time to
readjust and stay on the road.
And one mistake was all it
took to change his life…forever.
The last vision that appeared
behind his eyes, just as the windshield glass shattered into his face, and the
roof crushed in over his head, was Abigail: the girl he’d never get to kiss.
The girl he’d never be able to
fully make his own now that death was on the horizon…
September, 2013
It was plain and simple: David
Anderson’s mother drove him bat shit crazy. Today was his ultimate breaking
point in that discovery—the only proof he needed to confirm this one simple
fact. If the lady didn’t get her emotional shit together soon, he was going to
throw his very own version of a bat shit crazy fit, right there in her face.
“Mom, seriously, did you
really have to cry the
entire time?
I mean come
on!
We’ve been
going through this for what now, three months?” He shook his head, gripping his
crutches tight with his fingertips as he edged down the handicapped ramp of the
Hillsdale Therapy and Wellness Center.
Thank the therapy gods that
today was the last time he had to go to this brick institution for six short
weeks. He’d seen enough doctors, therapists, nurses and all that other shit to
last him for an eternity.
The prosthetic leg from holy
hell burned against his stump the faster he moved, but he held back his
grimace, biting the inside of his cheek to keep the groans he wanted to
unleash, locked up tight in his throat. His mother struggled to keep pace from
behind, sniffling the whole time. He shook his head, anger brewing at her
emotional issues once again. The last thing he needed was for her to find out
that his new, prosthetic ‘
frenemy
’ wasn’t fitting right. She’d already
done enough damage to his ego today as it was. Who knew what she’d say or do if
she had a clue of the misery he was experiencing with this thing!
His mother wasn’t the one
suffering through the exertion of physical therapy four days a week—through the
hell of getting used to a device that rubbed your skin raw some days. Sure, she
may have insisted that her tears were
happy
due to the supposed
progress
he’d made, but David knew better. The woman was a train wreck because she
couldn’t
fix
her son—couldn’t Humpty Dumpty his ass back together again.
Would the lady ever get it
through her thick skull that he was
never
going to be her proverbial
athletic football–star son again? The guy every parent wanted as their kid? The
good boy with the good grades, good looks, and a good head on his shoulders?
Hell, he’d never be that guy, and she had to accept that fact—and
soon—otherwise she’d only be setting herself up for a lifetime filled with
disappointment.
David held off on his berating
in the end, biting his tongue and hiding his words the best way he knew how—by
ignoring her. He was
The
Master of playing ignorant anymore, even though
he was more aware of certain shit around him than a lot of guys his age were.
He also knew that he’d already said his piece for the day. And the last thing
he wanted to do was set off her waterworks again.
His mom hadn’t left his side
in three months, not since the whole surgery–to–prosthetic–to–therapy thing
began. She’d done her part, sure, been his rock and his best friend, by simply
just
being
his mom
. In fact, he’d never felt more loved than he
did these past months. But holy hell—he was done with her babying. If anything,
it was about time she cut the damn cord away.
The whole
protection thing
she had over him had only worsened since his twin sister Harley moved to
California to be with her surfing–freak of a boyfriend in May. Lucky girl she
was though… Harley got to leave the nest, while
he
was left behind,
playing the role of two baby birds.
“Oh honey, come on! You know
that there are probably millions of moms out there who’d do the same thing!”
She patted his upper arm, voice dripping with a sappiness he didn’t want to hear.
He shut his eyes, his breathing staggered, his teeth gritted together. He was
about two seconds away from losing it on her. “And you’ve come so far, so fast!
I’m just…I’m proud of you!” He glanced her way, eyes narrowing as he watched
her wipe the wetness from her cheekbones.
Shit, there really was no use
was there? The woman had gone and fallen off her emotional rocker for good this
time, and he was in no way, shape or form ready to pick her back up today.
He’d always been patient with
his mom, more so than anyone in the family. He accepted her motherly ways and
her need to be a fixer most of all, but this? Christ, this was going beyond
anything she’d ever done.
The late August wind pushed
his dark hair into his eyes. And with an annoyed groan, and puckered lips, he
blew it away. He should have cut the crap, it was getting ridiculously long for
guy. But secretly, he wanted it there too. It made for a good curtain when he
didn’t want to look at people, or didn’t want people to look at him.
“Whatever Mom,” he grumbled,
worn down and exhausted from having the same argument over and over now for
months. “You’re just too…blubbery and crap,” he shook his head. “It’s just hard
to concentrate when you’re there blowing your nose and hiccupping every other second.”
She gasped, pressing her palm
to her chest. Dammit, she was just as dramatic as his sister, “I do not
blubber, David. I cry, happy tears, for my baby boy.” He rolled his eyes,
picking up his speed as the car came within a few feet of his body.
He yanked at the handle,
growling as it stuck, “Son of a bitching lock!” He shouted, pounding on the
window with his fist. He saw his mom flinch from the other side as she silently
unlocked the doors with her key fob. He didn’t look up at her fully, there was
no point, no need. He knew exactly what he’d see: Tears…more fucking tears.
He sighed to himself, balling
his hands into fists as the circulation in his palms cut off. Eagerly, he
tossed his crutches into the back seat, slamming the door shut behind him with
a battle cry of a groan. Being an ass to his mother wasn’t exactly an enjoyable
job, but sometimes that was the only way he could handle her when she got like
this.
It’d been over two and a half
years since the night of the accident that had left him shy of his left leg
from the knee down. It’d been a little over four months since he’d first
decided to go ahead with the prosthetic leg. Surgery, followed by therapy,
followed by constant parental guidance and supervision was definitely not how
he’d planned on spending his time after graduating high school. The crap part
about the whole situation was that thing that was supposed to make his life
easier
had only proven to be a whole hell of a lot more work than he’d ever
bargained for.
The doctors all insisted that
he was
young,
and that he would have
no problem
adjusting to his
new “limb
”
. But nobody was ever straight with him about the negatives of
this entire prosthetic process either. They’d mentioned the problems he
could
encounter, but actually experiencing those problems was a lot more challenging
than just being told about them. From the phantom leg pains aplenty, to the
blisters that
always
seemed to form like a second skin over his stub,
David couldn’t help but wonder if he would be better off with his old pal the
wheel chair in the end.
“David, honey, talk to me
here. I need to know what’s going on inside of that head of yours. We need to
communicate better. Don’t you remember what the psychologist said?” His mother
reached over, and attempted to grab at his hand, but David stiffened, pulling
away at the mention of the word
psychologist.
He clutched his buckle
with his sweaty fingers, using his other hand to grip the oh–shit bar above his
head. He faced her though, locking his angry, black eyes on her sad, dreary—and
like always—wet ones.
Oh yes, the therapist…yet
another one of his mother’s idiot ideas. The whole aspect of talking to a
shrink about his supposed
feelings
was a damn joke—a joke that was
definitely not a funny ha–ha one either. His sister had gone through it after
her boyfriend’s death and it hadn’t worked for shit. Why would his mother think
it would be any different for him? Yeah, he’d be the first to admit that he had
a temper and all—the yelling, the occasional punching of picture frames and
doors when he could barely move, when his new leg wouldn’t work the way it was
supposed to. Sometimes the pain in his skull ate away so badly at him, it was a
wonder he hadn’t died of an aneurysm by now.
But for the doctor and his
parents to claim that he was suffering from a feeling of
abandonment
by
Harley leaving, and
depression
from life itself? Well those had to have
been the two most dumbass ideas he’d ever heard. Why? Well, simple. It wasn’t
depression or abandonment he was feeling—it was jealousy; hardcore, angry,
shit–eating jealousy. And secretly, the only thing he wanted to do was skip out
on this town altogether, just like his sister had done.
Between him and Harley, David
had always been the one who wanted out of Hillsdale the most.
He
was the
twin who was supposed to go away to college on a football scholarship—becoming
a Husker had always been his dream.
He
was the twin who had NFL plans
someday! But instead, he’s stuck as a gimp for good, wondering what in the hell
he was going to do with his life now that his goals were—literally—cut off at
the knee now.
He’d never, ever harbor any
hatred towards his sister. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to see her
happy! But now, here he was, nothing more than a one-legged, jobless, and futureless
lump of crap—a lump of crap who was sure as hell tired of hearing his mother
rambling on about
feelings
. Seriously…how could he talk about his
feelings
when he didn’t even technically
feel
anymore?
“Mom, I’m done with the
communication shit. I’m done talking to you today in general. And I’m
especially done with your crying and nagging more than anything. I just had to
go through two hours of ass crunching therapy and I’m so damn tired that I
can’t think straight.” He growled her way, gritting his teeth as he spat out
his words. “All I really need right now is for you to stop talking for ten
minutes. Tops…” He groaned, shoving his head back against the seat. He threw
his forearm over his eyes, letting the silence finally take hold.
There he went again though,
snapping at her, using the cuss words that she once upon a time hated to hear
at that. But he tried to warn her that he wasn’t in the mood for her nagging.
Like always though, she wouldn’t listen. In fact, she
never
listened
anymore. Always pushing, always crying.
She
was half of his problem
these days.
He cracked his neck back and
forth, blowing out a sigh as he reopened his eyes. With no real object to focus
on, he simply just stared out the window. Yeah, he was being a dickhead, but if
being a dickhead got the job done, and she actually
stopped
talking,
then he would figure out how to gain forgiveness from her later.
He leaned over, pressing his
now aching temple against the cool glass to ease the pressure building. His
skull was slowly setting fire again, and he used the coolness as his personal
brand of pain meds and peace—a peace though, that wouldn’t come no matter what
the temperature was.
With the new and sudden quiet
in the car, came the emotional ache in his gut. The ache he didn’t welcome, the
ache he so despised. The pressure of it all burned flames of misery into his
lungs, and unintentionally, like always, his thoughts began to drift back to
the past few lonely months.
Months that had been hell.
No…not exactly hell. More like pure, fucking torture. Yeah, that was more like
it. The loneliness that had consumed him was endless. God, what he wouldn’t
give for at least
one
friend? It was a good thing he’d been able to get
into some last minute classes at Hillsdale Community, because this staying home
twenty–four/seven shit was wearing on him. Well, more like eating away at his
insides like flesh burning acid, but that was being Harley–dramatic. College
was not exactly a goal for him as it once was. It had simply become an idea, a
way of hopeful escape. The simplest way he could think of to pass the endless
hours of the nothingness that his life had become.
Who was he kidding though?
There was only one person who could ease the pain terrorizing his chest. One
simple set of numbers on his phone keypad separated him from hearing the only
voice that could set his mind at ease. The sound of her voice would surely
relieve the ache. It had always been the cure for whatever ailed him. Her soft
giggles, her smart mouth… Jesus, he was a damn mess for her. And then with the
sound of her voice echoing in his ears, would come the image of her face, her
body,
her
in general. Beautiful blue eyes, the way her blonde hair hung
in loose waves over her shoulders… He inhaled slowly through his nose,
remembering her scent; roses or flowers, something sweet, and beyond intoxicating.
He knew for certain that he could never get it out of his head if he tried.
But now, she was completely
off–limits after what had happened between the two of them.
He dug his palms into his
eyes, trying to press away the image of her from behind his lids, knowing that
she was out of reach and no longer his. Hell though, had she ever been his to
begin with? He knew it was an unavoidable task to forget her, because she was
the one thing that would make his mundane life bearable again. She was his
sister’s best friend—his dream girl. That is, if he even deserved one of those.
Abigail Zane was exactly what he needed. She was also exactly what he wanted;
what he craved—always, always craved. Unfortunately, he’d jumped off that train
a long time ago—abandoned ship, and left the Abigail port without a single wave
goodbye. She may have been everything he needed, but she was also everything
he’d thrown away.