Read That One Night (That One Series Book 1) Online
Authors: Josie Wright
That One Night (That One Series Book 1) (27 page)
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When it’s my row’s turn to get up and walk to the set up stage, I look back toward everyone, giving them a huge smile. I wave at Archer again and in response he slips out of Ben’s lap and starts waddling toward me before Ben can react. I open my arms and hug him tight. He clings to my neck and doesn’t want to let go, even when Ben tries to pry him off me.
“I guess he wants to graduate with me, huh?” I shrug, adjusting my hold on him so he can accompany me onto the stage. “I love you.” I kiss Ben and start walking with the rest of the students, praying to God Archer won’t show off the new words he’s learned. But he’s too busy playing with the tassel on the cap and I thank my lucky stars.
When my name is called and I walk up to receive my degree, I realize that next time I do this, I will be Ben’s wife.
It was that one night that changed the course of my life, breaking my heart in the process, and tearing everything to pieces that I thought I knew. But it was also that one night that opened the doors to the kind of life and love I have now.
THE END
Songs mentioned in the book:
“Forever Young” by Bob Dylan
“Ain’t No Sunshine” by Bill Withers
“Just Let Me” by Season To Attack
“I Need You” by Mass Undergoe
“Panther Dance” by THePETEBOX
“More Rock’n’Roll” by Dismantle
“Tears In Heaven” by Eric Clapton
“Down With The Sickness” by Disturbed
“With Arms Wide Open” by Creed
“Don’t Stop Me Now” by Queen
“Try” by Pink
“Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)” by Eurythmics
“Good Day” by Jewel
“Mystified” by Rocco DeLuca & The Burden
“Happy” by Pharrell Williams
Additional songs that I listened while writing:
“Whataya Want From Me” by Adam Lambert
“Let It Rain” by Amanda Marshall
“Take Me To Church” by Hozier
“Somebody That I Used To Know” by Walk Off The Earth
“Stop” by Sam Brown
“Better” by Pistol Day Parade
“Look At Me” by Keri Noble
People say that it takes a village to raise a child. I learned that it definitely takes a village to write and publish a book. And it’s my turn to thank my “village,” a number of extraordinary people who have made this journey a really special one.
My husband – Thank you so much for your patience, support, and faith in me as well as for taking care of all the day to day stuff. Thank you for dealing with forgotten laundry, lonely dinners, lack of attention, and a mentally absent wife. Thank you for putting up with my own brand of crazy. I love you more than words could ever say. You’re my everything.
My parents – From day one you always believed in me, no matter what ideas I came up with. It’s the confidence your love and support have instilled in me that allowed me to follow my dream. I can’t ever thank you enough. I love you with all my heart.
D. Hurt II – Thank you for being the most amazing friend anyone could ever wish for. Fifteen years and our friendship is stronger than ever. Your friendship means the world to me. You’re my soul mate. Thank you for always being there, for understanding, for never judging, for inspiring me, and for your love. Love you to pieces.
Nicola – You were the first one to read my manuscript, and you urged me on to keep writing. Your vote of confidence means the world to me. And so does your friendship. Thank you for believing in me. You’re my kind of crazy and I love you to pieces.
Anja – You’re not only the best editor, but just as amazing of a friend. I would have been lost without your help and without your encouragement. Frankie and Ben’s story could have never been told like this without you. Thank you for always being there, for letting me cry on your shoulder, and for being the fun and awesome chick that you are. I love you to pirates! (And yes, Dave is all yours.)
Emma aka Lizzy Roberts – You’re truly a blessing. Thank you for holding my hand through this crazy process of writing and self-publishing. You saved me from going gray prematurely. The teasers you made were damn amazing and the advice and help you always offered were invaluable, as was your help with formatting. Love ya.
Lucinda – Thank you so much for your help during my grammar and punctuation crisis. I don’t know what I would have done without your help. But even more importantly, thank you for your friendship and the many talks. Love ya.
Debra (Book Enthusiast Promotions) – I’m so lucky to call you my friend. Your friendship as well as your expertise are invaluable. The PR jungle was so much easier to handle with your help. Thank you for everything. Love you.
My author friends: Nash, Lauren, Shelby, Vi, Tonya, Heather – Your criticism, comments, advice, and jokes totally rocked and helped me write a better story. Thank you for the many, long talks and for listening to me whine, obsess, and freak out. You’re all women I look up to and respect so much. Thank you for your friendship and for being an amazing support to a newbie like me. Hugs and love.
My betas: Lisa, Tami, Kelly, Erin – Your thoughts and ideas challenged me and made me rip my hair out at times. But I wouldn’t want it any other way. Thank you for your input and your love for reading. Erin, thanks so much for all your help with the mental health aspects in the book. Love ya, girls.
Kari – Thank you for a beautiful cover. It was such a pleasure to work with you. You made the whole process so easy and your patience for my never-ending questions was saint-like. I can’t wait to see what covers you come up with in the future.
Matthias Matting – Thank you for talking me through the basics. You saved me from many sleepless nights trying to fight my way through the legal jungle.
Season To Attack – Thank you, thank you, thank you for letting me quote your lyrics. I already knew that you guys rocked, but now you’ve reached superstar status for me. Thank you for making music that inspires me and that touches my heart.
Bloggers – There are too many of you to name, but I hope you know who you are. Thank you for accepting my review request and/or taking part in my promotional events. Thank you for taking a chance on me and for the support you’re so willingly giving. Your enthusiasm, drive, and sacrifice to promote authors and their books floor me. Know that it doesn’t go unnoticed.
Readers – You, yes, you right there reading my book – I can’t thank you enough. I set out to fulfill a dream and to finally let loose all the imaginary friends in my head. Knowing that you are reading my work is the best, most humbling feeling in the world. I don’t have the words to convey my gratitude. I adore every single one of you.
Let me know what you thought – leave a review, email me, or hit me up on Facebook. Hearing from you will make my day.
Josie
Josie Wright has always been a bookworm, spending every free moment with her nose buried in a book. While others were out partying, she spent her evenings with Heathcliff, Sydney Carton or Snape. Romance, fantasy, thrillers - you name it, she read it.
Thanks to the Kindle, she finally arrived in the 21St century and discovered the Indie literature world. Josie has been lost to it ever since. With her love for the written word and her promiscuous feelings for countless book boyfriends, the next logical step was to start writing. The voices in her head and her imaginary friends wanted out to play and so she wrote her debut novel "That One Night,” that's to be released early summer 2015. And the good news is, there are more voices and imaginary friends where Ben and Frankie came from.
Josie is a financial expert by day and a writing junkie by night. The rest of the time she's a bit of a hippie, a bit of a goth and many things in between. Josie loves to spend time with her husband when she can tear herself away from her book boyfriends. She loves video games, movies, good food and even better music. She's addicted to chips, long baths and shoes. Oh, and books of course. Definitely books.
http://www.facebook.com/authorjwright
http://twitter.com/AuthorJWright
I’m currently working on “That One Day” which is Ben’s story
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his time in Tucson and his reunion with Frankie. Here is the first unedited and uncorrected chapter.
Chapter 1
The light from the street lamps is the only thing illuminating the kitchen. I’m sitting in the chair at the table, staring at the wooden clock that hangs above the counter, clutching the letter in my hand. I’ve been sitting here for two hours, ever since I got home from my business finance class—a class I hate with a passion. I’m not even sure there are any classes I like as it stands. I haven’t eaten or drank anything for hours, and I suppose I should feel hungry or thirsty, but I don’t. I’m too busy holding onto my control—the only thing that keeps me from tearing this house apart in order to find answers.
I came home two hours ago, planning to eat and take a nap before going out for the night. Dave, my best friend, skipped school today to impress some chick he’s currently after. I had pulled up in the driveway, slinging my backpack over one shoulder and making my way to the mailbox. My parents were working, like most of the time. They have a bed and breakfast right at the river, so there are always guests keeping them busy. Grabbing the mail, I started to make my way toward the house. Bills, commercials, the usual crap. That was, until I noticed an envelope addressed to me. I usually don’t get mail. Most people I know send me a text or call, none of them write letters. I turned the letter around to get a look at the sender’s address and was baffled to find it was from Arizona. Neale & Murphy Law Firm. Why the fuck would a law firm from Tucson, Arizona send me a letter. While tearing the envelope open, I tried to remember if I’d done anything that would warrant a law firm to get in touch with me. I doubted it. Instead of guessing, I decided to pull the letter out and just find out. And with one letter everything around me started to crumble to pieces. One afternoon and I knew nothing would ever be the same. That one day my whole life turned upside down.
Mr. Murphy has informed me in his letter that my grandmother has died and left me all her possessions. At first I’ve thought it had to be a mistake. Both of my grandmothers are healthy and well, and none of them lives in Tucson. I’ve thought they mixed up addresses or names. But no matter how often I check, the name and address are correct. Why would I have a grandmother in Arizona who I know nothing about? This doesn’t make any sense. In the hours that I’m sitting in the kitchen, I go over numerous scenarios. Maybe I am adopted and this is my real grandmother. Maybe my mom or dad have been adopted or one of my grandpas has been married before and it’s his first wife. I have no idea what it means and a feeling of anger, confusion, and hurt is starting to form in my stomach. So now I’m waiting for my mother to come home and offer an explanation. I hope she has a really good one because I can’t come up with anything that wouldn’t mean I’ve been lied to all my life. It’s close to 8 p.m. when I hear the door to the garage open and my mom walks in, turning on the light. She startles.
“Ben, Jesus, you scared me. What are you doing, sitting in the dark, honey?”
For a moment I hesitate, not wanting to face the truth, whatever it may be.
“Ben, hun’, are you okay?”
She walks up to me and looks at me, her eyes filled with worry. I thrust the letter in her direction.
“What’s that?”
“You tell me, mom?” My voice sounds strange to my own ears. It’s eerily calm, completely detached from what I’m feeling on the inside.
She takes the letter and starts reading and I watch as her face falls, a look of pain and regret evident on her usually kind features. No matter what she says next, I know it’ll ruin everything.
“Ben, I…,” she stutters, having a hard time finding the right words.
I get up, the chair falling back with a bang, making her jump.
“Tell me, mom!” My voice is loud and croaky. I sound like an injured animal, which is not far off.
“Ben, hun’, please calm down. Let’s sit.” I can tell she’s on the verge of crying. I should feel guilty, but I don’t. Right now I feel enough pain to take this house apart brick by brick and something in my gut tells me, it won’t get any better from here on. But I want to hear, no, I need to hear what she has to say, so I pick up the chair and take a seat.
She sits down in the chair next to me, laying the letter on the table and smoothing it out.
“Ben, you need to promise me to listen and not do anything rash, ok?”
I don’t reply. I can’t promise her shit right now. When she realizes that I’m not going to say anything, she lets out a shaky breath.
“You need to understand that your dad and I didn’t tell you in order to protect you. We didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Didn’t tell me what?” I grind out between clenched teeth, digging my nails into the palm of my hands, holding on desperately to the control that stops me from shouting at her to tell me what’s going on.
She closes her eyes and when she opens them, I can see fear and pain. “Ron isn’t your biological father.”
I feel like someone pulled out the ground from underneath me, and suddenly I’m falling and there is nothing or no one to catch me. I realize everything I thought I knew was a lie. Everything I am is a lie. I grip the edge of the table so hard, my knuckles turn white.
My voice is barely more than a whisper. “What?”
My mom is crying now, her shoulders shaking while tears are streaming down her face.
“Hon’, I was married before. I lived in Tucson. Your biological father, he wasn’t a good man. I left him when you were still a baby and shortly after I met Ron. We married and he adopted you. I didn’t want you to have anything to do with your father, that’s why I didn’t tell you. He’s no good.”
I fight against the tornado that is brewing inside of me. I want to scream, I want to destroy. I want to do something to stop all those feelings that are crushing down on me. Instead, I take a breath.
“That wasn’t your decision to make. You lied to me. You fucking lied to me.” I don’t recognize my own voice. I’m yelling at her, and I sound hoarse and desperate. I’m waiting for someone to tell me this is all a joke. But there is no one there.
“I’m sorry, Ben. I’m so sorry,” she sobs, trying to take my hand. I yank it back. I can’t stand her touch right now. I don’t know the woman sitting in front of me. Gone is the person I thought would always be there for me, the person I could always turn to. The woman I considered to be the best mother possible. All I see now is someone that lied to me—betrayed me. I get up, grabbing the letter before my legs move of their own accord, leading me out of the kitchen. I take two steps at a time up the stairs until I reach my room and open the door with a bang. I look around for a moment, taking in the place I spent all my life in or as it turns out, most of my life. I need to get out of there. I go over to my wardrobe and yank my duffel bag out of it, before I start throwing the essentials into it. A few pair of jeans, shirts, underwear, and socks, followed by my laptop and a few others bits and pieces. It doesn’t take me longer than five minutes before I walk out of the room, taking one more look back. Yanking the keys out of my pocket, I unhook the house keys and throw them on my bed. I won’t be coming back.
I pound down the stairs, anger, and desperation fuelling my every step. When I arrive downstairs, I can hear my mom talking on the phone. “Ron, you have to come home….”
When she sees me and her eyes fall to the duffle bag, she hangs up, rushing over to me. She takes a hold of the duffle bag straps, pure desperation making her hold on it with more strength than she normally has.
“What’s his name?” My voice is hard and cold.
“What?” Her eyebrows furrow and she seems confused for a moment, taken aback by my question.
“What. Is. My. Father’s. Name?” I grit out between my teeth.
My mom shakes her head, but answers anyway. When she does, her voice is weak, barely audible. “Noah. His name is Noah.”
“Where is he, mom?” I need to know who my father is. I need to go see him, talk to him. I need to find out where I came from.
She hangs her head, then looks up at me and sighs.
“I don’t know, Ben. Last time I’ve heard of him was before I left Arizona.”
I’m not sure I can believe her. She’s had no issues lying to me about who my father was. Lying about where he might be should come easy to her, I suppose.
I turn away towards the door, ready to leave this place behind before it suffocates me.
“Ben, please wait. You need to listen to me…”
I don’t let her finish, tearing out the duffle bag from her grasp with one hard tug.
“You’ve had all my life to talk to me.” With that, I turn around and walk out the door, ignoring her cries. Slamming the truck door closed behind me, I bring the motor to life, turning up the music to drown out her voice as I back out of the driveway. Before I take off down the street, I take a glimpse in the rear-view mirror, and I hate myself for feeling guilty when I see her in the doorway, sagged to the floor and crying. I don’t have anything to feel guilty about. She lied to me. And she never would have told me the truth if not for that damn letter. Yet, I hate myself for hurting her.
I clutch the steering wheel so tightly, I’m afraid it will crumble to dust. I want to stop feeling, want to numb the pain and anger that’s coursing through my veins like poison. I don’t drive far, just a few houses down the road before I’m at my destination, Dave’s house. I know he’ll still be out, and his parents are visiting family in the UP. This should give me a few hours to figure out what I’m going to do next. I hop out of the car and unlock the garage. I’ve had keys to their house for years, since my parents worked so much, and I always hung around here with Dave anyway. This has been just as much my home, as my own used to be, and now it’s the only home I know. I put the car into the garage, closing the door before I enter the house. It’s quiet and deserted, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I make my way to the living room, stopping at the cupboard where Dave’s dad stores the alcohol. We’ve raided it often enough as teenagers when his parents were out. I grab a bottle of whiskey, not bothering with a tumbler and walk over to the sofa, bumping into the side table on the way. I welcome the burst of pain I feel in my shin, letting me forget everything else I’m feeling—if only for a few seconds. Turning on the light on the side table, I skim over the huge LP collection that’s displayed in the wall-sized bookshelf. Taking out a few LPs, I put one on and plop down on the sofa, taking a few sips straight out of the bottle, allowing the burn of the whiskey to take my mind of my fucked-up life.