Read The Risk: Scott's Story (Runaway Love Series Book 2) Online
Authors: Pamela Washington
Copyright © 2015 Pamela Washington
Published October 2015
Editing by Tina Donaldson
Formatting by Angela Shockley, That Formatting Lady
Cover Design by Just Write. Creations
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
This book is dedicated to my mother, Candace.
Thank you for being you and putting up with my craziness.
You’re an amazing woman and a beautiful angel.
Thanks for reading my stories and telling me to write, even when I wasn’t in the mood.
Follow your dreams! It’s never too early, and it’s never too late!
Take a chance and the rest will follow.
Hey readers, I just wanted to share this before you start reading
I highly recommend that you have read
before you start the journey of reading
gives you Grace’s perspective of how she feels about the two loves in her life: Scott and Tony.
is Scott’s story and tells his perspective on the happenings in
before it breaks off into his own personal story.
I hope you enjoyed
. Are you ready to take
ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK…
RUNAWAY LOVE SERIES
Childhood? What was that? I never knew what it was like to just be a kid. I had to grow up and face the harsh realities of life well before I should’ve had to. I never knew what it was like to feel safe or loved or taken care of. Hell, I didn’t even know what a full belly felt like! All I knew in life was to fight. I knew nothing would even be given to me – I had to fight for anything and everything I wanted; I had to fight to survive.
When my mother passed away, I wasn’t sad. Truthfully, I felt relieved. Nobody knows the struggle of having a junkie for a mother… But, you know what? I don’t want to talk about her! I’m a man of few words. I don’t like thinking about my past or worrying about my future. I’m content to live in the present. Yes, I had a fucked up childhood. Yes, my mother loved drugs more than me and my father –pffft- I never even met him. I was on a dangerous path in life, heading toward being just another statistic, but I was willing to take a risk - a risk that led me to knowing the love of my life…
I was filled with so much anger that fighting became my main outlet. When I fought, I was the stronger one - I was the winner. I didn’t feel worthless or depressed when I fought, so I’d always look for the littlest reasons to start fights. Because of this, though, I went from foster home to foster home for several years. No one let me stay long, though, because I was too violent. Why couldn’t anyone understand I just wanted to escape all the negativity that was flowing through me? Didn’t anyone realize I just wanted to feel love and acceptance? Needless to say, when I arrived at Ms. Allen’s group home, I didn’t expect to be there very long. But, I took a risk and controlled my anger, and that run-down, horrible house introduced me to the two things that would eventually save my life: soccer and Grace.
One day as I was showing Paul, a fellow foster kid, around, I noticed a new red haired girl staring out the window. I was immediately drawn to her even though she was obviously younger than I. She had the same look in her eyes that I imagined my eyes held – hopelessness, despair, longing, and loneliness. I wanted to go over and talk to her right away, but I knew I needed to wait for her to get comfortable with the place first. Foster kids don’t usually warm up to each other right away – we all have to gain each other’s trust a little bit. I kept making excuses to avoid talking to her because I was afraid of her rejecting my attempt at friendship.
Days turned into weeks and my need to talk to her finally overweighed my fear. I began noticing that she wasn’t eating and was losing weight, and I knew she couldn’t keep going like that or she’d get sick. I didn’t know where that caring side of me came from – maybe from when I had to take care of my mother. Regardless, I felt the need to make sure this girl was okay. One morning, I took a deep breath, grabbed two plates and filled them with food, and went to sit next to her by her usual window spot.
“You don’t have to talk to me, but you will eat this food. I’m not leaving until you eat all of it,” I informed her rather gruffly. I was surprised by the roughness in my demeanor, but it wasn’t like I was used to taking care of someone else. She looked up at me with her beautiful grey eyes before staring down at her plate. With a sigh of resignation, she began to eat. My heart warmed and soared because I was actually having a positive impact on someone! I didn’t move until she finished her plate. I then slid my plate in front of her, but she shook her head no. Feeling awkward all of a sudden, I took my plate and headed toward the kitchen. I had to force myself to keep walking when I heard her speak for the first time. A soft
caused my heart to do flips and butterflies to flutter in my stomach.
What was that crazy feeling?
The following day, I was playing soccer outside with Paul when I saw her looking at me out the window. Knowing she was caught, she quickly turned her head. My mind was focused on her when I accidentally kicked Paul instead of the ball. He ran and told Ms. Allen right away, so of course I got in trouble and wasn’t able to see Grace for a while. A few weeks passed before I started to interact with Grace a little bit more. Yes, she finally told me her name! I loved her name - it fit her so well.
Grace and I became inseparable. I suppose we had fallen in love, but we were both so emotionally damaged that we didn’t really know what love was. All we knew for certain was that we were part of each other and nothing could ever tear us apart. We talked about everything and anything. We shared our plans for our future and promised to make better lives for ourselves than our parents did.
Grace and I were each other’s biggest supporters. I’d sit and watch her draw, and she watched me play soccer. My soccer abilities greatly improved during this time because I was determined to impress her and make her smile; however, I always made sure to let the other kids shine as well during our informal games. I also tried my best to protect Grace from Ms. Allen. I hated to see Grace in pain – when she hurt, I hurt even more for her.
The day before my seventeenth birthday, I panicked at the realization that I was leaving and wouldn’t see Grace every day. I begged her to come with me, but she rationally reminded me she was too young to leave. I looked into her eyes and promised I’d be back for her. Grace cried as I tenderly wiped the tears that were running down her cheeks. I asked her to draw a picture of her name for me so I could have it tattooed close to my heart. I wanted her name on my body so everyone would know that she was mine.
The next morning I promised Grace again that I’d be back for her. I listened to her quiet sobs as I walked out the door as an independent man. Before I got in the waiting taxi, I looked up at Grace standing at her window. I mouthed,
I love you, Grace
as she mouthed back to me,
I love you, Scott
. Life was never the same after I closed the taxi door.