Authors: Jaci J
Wild Heart
Wild Heart © 2016 Jaci J
All Rights Reserved.
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 or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, any place, event, occurrence, or incident is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created and thought up from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover art;
Bigstockphotos.com
Model: Nodya Korobkova (74375305)
Background: Olga Gavrilova (82847270)
Cover Design;
Margreet Asselbergs - Rebel Edit & Design
Editing;
Dana Hook – Rebel Edit & Design
Proofreading;
Chris Kovacich – Rebel Edit & Design
Formatting & Promotions;
Silla Webb
Masque of the Red Pen
“Bourbon” – Gallant
“Last Cigarette” – Ro James
“Never Be Like You” – Flume ft. Kai
“Love Drought” - Beyonce
“Small Town USA” – Justin Moore
“Gorgeous” – X Ambassadors
“My Girl” – The Temptations
“Permission” – Ro James
“Don’t Dream It’s Over” – Crowded House
“Way Down We Go” – Kaleo
“Watch The Wind Blow By” – Tim McGraw
“Crazy Love” – Van Morrison
“YOUTH” – Troye Sivan
“Something To Talk About” – Bonnie Raitt
My mama always said that falling in love for the first time would be one of the greatest feelings on Earth. She also said it would be one of the worst. She didn't lie.
A lot can happen in ten years—people grow, feelings change, life moves on—but what happens when none of those things ever change? What happens when you never grow, when your feelings stay the same, and you never move on?
Do you stay, or do you decide to change it all and move on, leaving that kind of love behind?
Thank you,
Dana, Margreet, Silla, and Chris.
Without you none of this would be possible.
A big thanks to Rhonda Kirby for your awkward first kiss story.
I had to borrow it.
This book is for all the eternal optimists.
For the lovers of love.
For the happily ever after’s and the one true loves.
Real love never dies.
This one is for my Grandma Jean and my Cousin Hannah.
Grocery shopping is not for the faint of heart, that’s for goddamn sure.
Rubbing at my face, I groan in frustration.
If the price of food doesn’t stress you the hell out, then the slow ass lady wearing spandex pants covered in cat hair, along with an unflattering top, going slower than if she were walking backwards will.
The aisles are too small, the food is full of healthy shit no one really wants to eat,
and the checkout lines are so fucking long.
My idea of food shopping consists of calling for pizza, picking up meat to grill from the butcher, or sitting down at my parents’ table.
I avoid this place at all costs, but here I am, on a
Wednesday
.
It doesn’t help my shopping experience either when I got stopped by a few townsfolk wanting to chat and catch up. With an unfriendly frown on my face and snappy responses, they continued to hound me. Hell, it took me fifteen minutes to make it past the damn cart corral. That’s small town living for ya, I suppose.
I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the panicked phone call I got on my way home from work thirty minutes ago. I should have ignored it like I did Nadia’s calls, but you don’t ignore my mother. That woman won’t stop blowing up your phone until you answer.
“I need butter,” she blurted out when I answered, practically in tears.
Butter
.
Only my mother would lose her damn mind over such a thing. So, here I am, getting her precious
butter
.
Pulling off my flannel, I chuck it into the cart, stressed the hell out.
I grab three boxes of Lucky Charms and toss them into the cart on my way to the butter. Maybe some Coco Puffs? Might as well stock up while I’m here, ’cause I’m not doing this shit again anytime soon.
“Zac? Zac Moore?”
Holding an industrial size box of Pop-Tarts, I turn around and damn near knock spandex wearing lady down. She glares at me before she waddles off, grumbling under her breath. Behind her is Bard Blevins, waving, trotting right down the aisle towards me.
Well, fuck
.
I contemplate running, but figure she’ll chase me down. She might be pudgy, but she’s quick. I’ve watched her chase the neighbor’s kids out of her flowerbeds with a hose a time or two, and she gets them every time.
“Hey, Mrs. Blevins. How ya doin’?” I ask her over my shoulder, tossing the Pop-Tarts into the cart with my growing stockpile of breakfast shit.
Mrs. Blevins has the biggest mouth in the state. The woman knows
everything
about
everyone
in Riverside. She knows who’s cheating on who, who lost their homes and jobs, and why. She knows what your kids have been up to before you do. She knows every juicy little thing that happens within these city limits. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had an ‘in’ with the city a few miles down the highway, too.
Don’t tell Barb Blevins anything you don’t want the whole goddamn town to know about before tomorrow’s newspaper hits your front porch.
“Good…that’s good,” she prattles on, looking me up and down. Nodding, her gray hair bobbles around under her floppy sun hat. “How about you? How’s your Mom? Your brother?” My mom’s probably covered in flour and pacing her kitchen, waiting on her butter.
“Good.”
“And your Dad?”
He’s probably drinking a beer out in the barn right about now, avoiding the kitchen and my panicked mother.
Lucky bastard
.
“Busy, but he’s doing fine.”
“Oh, that’s great. I know things have been a bit busy down at the store…” she jabbers on, telling me shit I already know. My dad owns the local saw shop. Things tend to pick up this time of year, but it’s not anything the old man can’t handle. He’s been doing it longer than I’ve been alive. “He should hire more help. Summer’s about over. Time to hire some of high schoolers before they’re back in school.” I tune out about ninety percent of the things that come out of her mouth, because really, they don’t mean a goddamn thing to me.
“So…” I wait for it. It’s inevitable. It’s been happening for ten fucking years.
The questions always start simple; asking about the family, commenting about the weather. Then, a little town gossip finds its way into her polite, idle chitchat, but it never ends there.
“Did ya hear...” Barb leans in close, looking from side to side, ready to let me in on a secret I couldn’t care less about. “Emerson is back in town,” she says in a hushed whisper.
It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and when they do, they sink straight to the bottom of my gut.
Oh, Jesus. Fuck me
.
My heart twists in my chest, a feeling I haven’t experienced in a long damn time, making me wince. I sure as hell wasn’t expecting that to come out of the old gossip’s mouth.
“Ya don’t say,” I choke out, the words stuck in the back of my throat.
“Yep. Guess she’s moved back. Saw her with her Mama at Lou’s Diner last night.”
I try to act like that shit didn’t just punch a hole straight into my goddamn chest, rocking me to my core. So, I smile, or I hope like hell it looks like one, because on the inside, I feel like I’m drowning.
Never, not in a million goddamn years did I expect
her
to come back.
“Oh yeah? That’s
wonderful
,” I grind out through my teeth. I’m trying real hard to be polite, but it’s painful.
Now it all makes sense. The last minute
dinner
on a fucking Wednesday night, that Mom
insisted
I show up for. I should’ve known better.
I’m sure Mrs. Blevins is full of gossip about
Emerson,
but I’m just not interested. “Yeah. She’s—” I don’t let her finish.
“Nice seein’ ya, Mrs. Blevins.”
I walk off, bypassing the butter, and head straight for the beer.