Amplify (45 page)

My brothers were four and seven years older than I was, which made me the baby, hence Dad’s reluctance to let me go. Heath was the oldest, (his full name was actually Heathcliff) my other brother was Holden and I was Scout. As you probably gathered, our mother had been an avid reader and named us after her favorite literary characters. I’d never known her because she’d died when I was three but I’d always felt her absence in our lives due to all the pictures of her in our house and especially when Dad or one of my brothers brought her up, sharing stories of times I’d never known or didn’t remember. When I was seven, I’d asked my dad why he’d never remarried. He’d gotten a faraway look in his eyes and told me that once you found your reason to breathe, no one else could “pass muster.” I hadn’t understood at the time, but it sounded romantic, so I’d let it go.

So, back to our names. Although I thought they were cool, Heath despised his, even though his broody spells said the name fit him perfectly. But he’d taken a lot of crap from the other kids for it when he was little, so when I was old enough to know what it meant, I told him his name sounded prestigious and it would look great on business cards someday. He’d laughed at that saying he hoped that all the hell he’d gotten for it would eventually pay off.  He was now a software developer in Boise, a job for which he was getting paid bank, so I’d say he’d more than vindicated himself for being picked on. Matter of fact, he was making so much money, he even co-signed for a loan with Dad for our farm. Dad, of course, had balked, but Heath had insisted, telling Dad the money would likely just go to more beer, so Dad had half-jokingly given in for the sake of Heath’s sobriety. My other brother Holden, who lived up to his namesake in the fact that he was a deep thinker (and also quite the party boy), was twenty-four, a huge ladies man and was the one in law school who’d convinced Dad to let me come to Seattle. And I’m Scout. I think I’ve done a decent job living up to my name because I’ve always been a tomboy and Dad says I’ve also always been fairly precocious. 

So there I sat in psychology class on the first day, when to my utter shock (and annoyance), Tire Change Dude walked in. And, damn it, he was even better looking out of the rain.

He had on a gray short-sleeved Godsmack t-shirt over a long-sleeved black tee, hiding the full sleeves of tattoos that I knew he had, but I could still see part of a tattoo peeking out at the left side of his neck. I saw that his hair was actually a dark caramel-color, not quite as dark as the rain had made it appear, and he wore it in a fade cut with long bangs spiked up in the front. His faded jeans sat low on his hips and he wore brown, lace-up boots. He also had on black reading glasses, and jumping Jesus on a pogo stick, he looked good.

I immediately turned my head away, scratching myself on the neck nonchalantly, hoping he wouldn’t recognize me. I then heard a guy several rows behind and a few seats to the left of me holler “Yo!” and I turned slightly to see Tattoo Dude raise his head in a nod at him then he came up the stairs and passed right by me and, damn it, I couldn’t
not
look. His eyes caught mine but they looked right through me, no recognition in them at all, which I oddly found was kind of disappointing.

As I sat waiting for class to begin, I listened to the two guys talking and, boy, did I learn a lot. First of all, tire dude’s name was Gable. I hadn’t remembered what his girlfriend had called him that day in the rain, but now it clicked. Secondly, I found out they’d had a party the weekend before and Gable had gotten so wasted that he’d woken up in bed with three girls, so I guessed the classy babe with him when I had a flat wasn’t his girlfriend after all. Thirdly, I now knew he was thinking of getting another tattoo, probably “Luctor et emergo” on his right pec, which I knew was Latin but had no clue what it meant. The guy with him was just as clueless, asking about it, but Gable had remained close-mouthed. Fourthly, their poker game had been changed from Wednesday night to Thursday. And fifthly, who the fuck was the hot blonde piece of tail sitting in front of him with legs that went on for miles that he wouldn’t mind having wrapped around his head?

He had to be kidding. Who said stuff like that in public? And did he really think that’d land him a girl? Wow. I inspected the classroom for the poor blond girl he was talking so rudely about, but most of the girls I saw had dark hair. Then I felt something hit the side of my head, and frowning, turned to see him and his friend ogling me as the wadded paper one of them had thrown landed in my lap.

The friend jerked his chin up at me. “What’s up? Hey, did you fall from the sky because let’s have sex.”

I stared at him for a moment before scrunching up my face and saying, “Seriously?” Really, who talked that way?

Gable’s eyes narrowed then. “I know you.” I squinted my eyes right back at him then he snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Tire girl. Miss Priss.” And he gave me that lopsided grin.

I rolled my eyes and turned away because I was embarrassed by the whole encounter. I was also flustered at the fact that my heart was beating ninety-to-nothing and my nipples had gotten hard at just seeing him grin at me. God.

The professor had now come in and started taking roll, so I kept my attention on her, ignoring the fact that I could feel Gable’s eyes burning a hole into the side of my head. I wanted to turn to him and frown, maybe even give him the finger, but I knew that’d just get me another nipple-hardening grin so I stayed facing forward. But as I sat there, using every ounce of restraint I could to keep from looking at him, I realized I was actually flattered by what he’d said about me, and it horrified me that I’d feel that way about being objectified and I wanted to smack myself in the head as I tried figuring out where my self-respect had gone.

During roll call, I learned that his last name was Powers. Oh, boy, he was one of
them
. The
them
I’d been hearing about since stepping onto campus. And he was flirting with me. Well, wasn’t I the lucky one. Unable to help being curious about this latest bit of info and wanting to know if he really was as good looking as everyone had been saying (I mean, I’d seen him but hadn’t known who he was so I hadn’t really
seen him seen him
), I risked a glance over my left shoulder at him only to find him gazing right back at me with a lazy grin. Holy crap! I turned around quickly and promptly swallowed my gum on the breath I’d sucked in at getting caught. As I choked out a cough, I decided he
was
as hot as everyone had been saying, and I also decided I was an idiot to mess with him. Although very handsome, he was uncouth, rude and too wild for the likes of me and I needed to stay far, far away from him, which I told myself I’d do.

So why the hell did that make him even more intriguing?

AVAILABLE NOW

***

T
he church pew is hard under my bum, and both of my hands are being held and squeezed tightly. My mum is on one side of me, and on the other, my best friend Rachel. Neither one of these women have left my side since the accident.

Although I know all this, although I’m aware of everything around me, it doesn’t feel real. It feels like I’m not really here, like Nate isn’t lying in that coffin, and this is one fucked-up nightmare.

Listening to the pastor read aloud the letter I wrote for Nate, reality comes crashing down around me, stabbing me in the heart. I know this is real. I know I really am here, and I know Nate
is
lying in that coffin. This isn’t a fucked-up nightmare but reality. The new fucked-up reality which is my life.

I listen to the words I typed and printed onto a beautiful champagne-coloured card, the words I’d bled onto the computer screen. I’d cried massive amounts of tears wishing Nate were here and wishing I could tell him how I felt, how much I loved him and how much I needed him.

My chest is tight and pain flows through me. My heart has shattered into a million tiny pieces. I’m not sure how it’s even still beating. I’m numb to the world around me, numb to all feelings.

I keep replaying that day over and over in my head, wondering how it all went wrong. How did something so precious get ripped out of my hands in the blink of an eye?

After Nate and I made love, we lay in bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms while talking about anything and everything to do with babies. What gender we wanted and why. Would we find out the sex, and the positives and negatives of having a daughter versus a son. How would we decorate the nursery? What stuff did we need to buy?

Our hands had never left each other as we chatted and discussed all our thoughts and feelings on the subject. Nate had rubbed his strong hands up and down my back, caressing my ass cheeks and the backs of my thighs, then working his way up to start the whole process again.

My hands had pressed up against his chest, grazing over his pectorals and down his strongly-defined stomach, sliding my fingers down to his sexy
V
. I’d said to Nate I didn’t know why we owned a king-size bed when we always ended up wrapped together right in the middle taking up hardly any room at all. He’d laughed and replied it was room for all the kids we were going to have to jump in with us. He was so excited about us starting a family, which made me wonder if he had been holding off for me, waiting for me to say I was ready.

When Nate had finally unwrapped himself from around me to go to the bathroom I watched as he strolled in. He was walking lighter, and I knew he was on top of the world. Before entering, he’d turned his head and given me the widest smile and a sexy wink.

It was later that morning when I received the knock on my door which altered my world forever. Nate had been in a car accident on the way to the office. An older gentleman had run a red light and hit Nate’s car, driver’s side. The impact killing him instantly.

I wish I could stay in our last perfect moment. Instead, I’m pulled back to the hell that is now my life. No longer able to ignore the blubbering and sniffling, I look to my left and see my mum holding a handkerchief to her nose, tears running down her cheeks, her eyes pinched shut with pain.

For a fleeting moment I wonder what she has to be so sad about. I know my parents loved Nate; they welcomed him into our family with no reservations. This surprised me at the time, being that I’m their only child, and a girl at that. I thought my dad was going to be a bit tougher to conquer, but really I should’ve known: Nate could charm anyone. Not in a used-car salesman type of way, but in the way which was just Nate. He was honest and sincere with everyone he met. Respectful of his clients, fair to his employees and loving and loyal to anyone who was special and meant something to him.

So yeah, I knew my mum was upset, knew she would feel the loss of her only son, but what had
she
really lost? She had Dad to go home with. When she felt sad or lost, Dad would hold her and comfort her. Who did I have? What would I do tonight when the pain became so overwhelming that I was throwing up in the bathroom? When I couldn’t think of living another day without him and struggled to breathe remembering Nate wouldn’t be the first thing I see in the morning?