Small town romance boxed set
Emily Goodwin
Contents
One Call Away
Playlist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Free Fall
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Epilogue
Never Say Never
Prologue
1. Haley
2. Haley
3. Aiden
4. Aiden
5. Haley
6. Aiden
7. Haley
8. Aiden
9. Haley
10. Aiden
11. Haley
12. Haley
13. Aiden
14. Haley
15. Aiden
16. Aiden
17. Haley
18. Aiden
19. Haley
20. Aiden
21. Haley
22. Aiden
23. Haley
24. Aiden
25. Haley
26. Haley
27. Haley
28. Aiden
29. Haley
30. Aiden
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Emily Goodwin
One Call Away
One Call Away
Copyright 2017
Emily Goodwin
Cover Design by RBA: Romantic Book Affairs
Cover Photography by Lindee Robinson
Models: Travis Bendall and Ali Abela
Editing by Lindsay at Contagious Edits and Ellie at Love N Books
* * *
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or places is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
To my girls. I love you to the moon and back.
Playlist
Unsteady- X Ambassador
Never Say Never- The Gray
Mad World- Gary Jules
Say Something- A Great Big World
Let Her Go- Passenger
Breathe Me- Jasmine Thompson
Never Let Me Go- Florence + The Machine
Trust- Christina Perri
Say You Won’t Let go- James Arthur
Cosmic Love- Florence + The Machine
Back to You- Alex & Sierra
Even My Dad Does Sometimes- Ed Sherran
Life of the Party- Shawn Mendez
One Call Away- Charlie Puth
Chapter 1
Sierra
Then…
My phone clatters to the ground, and the smiling faces of Hermione and Luna stare up at me from the back of my Harry Potter phone case. I exhale, and as the breath leaves me, so does part of my soul. I close my eyes, refusing to process what I just heard.
Time stops, yet everything is swirling around me at a dizzying rate. Panic rises in my chest, and my knees threaten to buckle. A strangled sob escapes my lips and I pitch forward, catching myself on the counter. Tears burn behind my closed eyelids, and I’m struggling to breathe.
“Sierra? Are you all right?” Mrs. Williams’ voice comes from behind me, sounding miles away as if it’s echoing through a dark and harrowing tunnel. She’s only a few yards to my right, putting a new shipment of children's books away on a display. “Sierra?” she calls again and the floorboards of this little, old bookstore creak beneath her feet. “Honey, what’s wrong?” There’s a bit of panic in her voice, but she does her best to hide it.
“Jake,” I whisper, and the tears start to fall. “Jake…”
Mrs. Williams picks up my phone. There’s a fresh crack down the middle, but I don’t care right now. It’s just a phone. It can be replaced. She carefully puts it to her ear and says something, and then listens to what the liar on the other end has to say.
I want to swat the phone out of her hand. I want it to fall and break into a million pieces on the cold, hard ground. Because none of it is true.
It can’t be true.
Jake can’t leave me.
The blood drains from Mrs. Williams’ face. She nods as she talks, then lowers the phone. “Sierra,” she says softly, voice full of pity. Her hand lands on my back and if I weren’t frozen still, I’d jerk away. I don’t need sympathy. Because that means something is wrong. That means something bad happened.
And nothing did.
Things are good.
I’m good.
Jake’s good.
We’re good.
“I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
The panic is back and everything inside me aches. I need to be there. Now. “The store,” I start, brain going into survival mode. It’s only me and Mrs. Williams running this place, and we have our first customer of the morning in right now, shyly flipping through a dirty romance novel.
“The store can wait,” Mrs. Williams says gently. “We won’t miss too many sales anyway.” She gives me a small smile, eyebrows pinched together with worry. “Come on, honey, grab your purse.”
I blink and realize that tears are streaming down my face like rain. I can’t make them stop. My chest tightens when I turn, and all I can do to keep from coming apart is to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. I make it into the
little room in the back and take my purse from the hook. There’s no air conditioning back here, and the humidity is high today, normal for late spring in Mississippi. The world spirals around me and the liar’s words echo through my head.
There was an accident.
I’m sorry.
We’ve done all that we can do.
There’s not much time left.
Hurry if you want to say goodbye.
“Sierra?” Mrs. Williams calls. I can hear her keys jingling in rhythm with her limp as she hurries to the back. The weather makes her bad hip hurt. “Come on, honey.”
I look down at my sunshine-yellow ballet flats, tears blurring my vision. Forcing myself to go numb, I follow Mrs. Williams out the back of the store and get in the passenger side of her car.
The fully restored 1971, cherry-red Chevelle that’s detailed to hell with rims so shiny you can see them from space is the last thing you’d expect an eighty-something-year-old woman to be driving. But those who know Mrs. Williams know restoring old cars to perfection was her husband’s hobby that turned into his career. She has a garage full of these things, and she and her son take great care of them.
I stare straight ahead at the dash, not allowing myself to think. Or feel.
But I do.
My mind goes back to how it all began, to that first night I saw Jake at a party in college. He was drunk and had his hands all over some blonde with boobs pushed up to her chin. Yet for some reason, he left her and wanted to talk to me. I thought he was a pig. He asked me out and I told him no.
After a bit of a cat-and-mouse game of him asking me out and me telling him no, things changed when he kissed me on my birthday, and we’ve been together for nearly two years now. I moved back home to Summer Hill after graduating college, working to save for grad school and waiting for Jake to finish his residency and become a doctor.
We’re nearly an hour away from the hospital, and each bump in the road, each mile that passes, makes things feel more real. I curl my fingers into the leather seat beneath me, eyes wide and jaw tense. My heart is beating so fast it hurts, with each beat echoing loudly in my ears.
They’re wrong. Jake is going to be fine. I can’t lose him. I won’t lose him.
Not a word is spoken on the way to the hospital. Mrs. Williams stops at the front and suddenly I can’t move. My fingers won’t work to open the door. My legs are lead and are much too heavy.
“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks.
My jaw begins to tremble and I shake my head. “I don’t know.” I blink and the sight of the large, brick building takes my breath away all over again. Vomit rises in my throat and the panic comes back in a fury. Without another word, I get out of the car and rush to the desk in the ER.
“Hi, how can I help you?” a young girl asks with a smile that slowly disappears from her face when she takes in my desperation.
“Jake. Jake McLeland,” I start, voice trembling. “I got a call that he was…” I can’t finish the sentence. The girl behind the desk nods and types something into the computer. Her face softens more when she reads whatever the file is telling her. She grabs a phone and calls for an attendant to take me to the ICU.
Everyone looks at me with pity. Smiles gently. Talks softly. Like they’re afraid I’ll break at any moment. But if what they say is true, I’m already broken.
The smell hits me first. It’s a typical hospital smell: a mixture of disinfectant, ointments, and blood. I know it doesn’t make sense. There aren’t pools of blood left to fester, yet it’s what I smell. The lighting gets to me next. The waiting area is dark, contrasted by harsh lights in the nurses’ station and over the patients’ beds.
I’m directed to a room at the end of the ICU. Curtains are drawn around the glass walls and it hits me; there’s no need for the nurses to be able to look in on Jake. It’s that moment that defines me, that moment when I know I’ve lost my faith.
And I haven’t even seen Jake yet.
Unsteady, my legs shake. My fingers tremble and I reach up to the cat charm hanging from my necklace, rubbing my thumb over the smooth metal. It’s a nervous habit, but the gesture brings no comfort.
A nurse comes to greet me. Her eyes are gentle, and she explains things to me like it makes sense. Like anything makes sense. I look up at her, wondering how she’s able to do this day after day. How’s she’s able to say things like ‘no brain activity’ and ‘unstable blood pressure’ without breaking down herself.
She puts her arm around my shoulder and opens the door. The sight of Jake, my sweet Jake, lying motionless in the bed, hooked up to more IVs and wires than I can count, with tubes in his mouth and his neck in a brace, sends me backward into a dark spiral of despair I know I’ll never be able to claw my way out of.
Tears fall from my eyes and everything inside me breaks. I go to Jake, taking his hand. His skin is cold.
The beeping from the heart monitor isn’t rhythmic. Isn’t steady. It’s nowhere near the rate it should be. His heart beats once for every three of mine, but that’s okay. I’ll give him my strength. My heart is already his.
“I’m not sure what your beliefs are,” the nurse softly says. “But a lot of people believe the soul or spirit remains until the last heartbeat. He might still be able to hear you.”
Words meant to comfort me bring on an icy chill, and I collapse onto the bed, unable to control my sobs.
The last heartbeat.
“Jake,” I cry, lacing my fingers between his. An IV tube gets in the way, but I ignore it. “Jake, please don’t leave me. Don’t leave. Please.”
I wrap my other arm around him and rest my head on his chest. Instead of the warm comfort of his muscles, he feels stiff and cold, covered in wires. Faintly, I can smell his cologne underneath the stench of hospital that’s stained his skin.
“You can’t leave me,” I sob. “We’re not done yet, remember? You left me a message this morning about finally putting in that garden.” I press my head into him, crying harder than I ever have before. “And the cat shelf,” I say, looking up at him. He’s going to open his eyes and laugh at me. Any second now, he’ll tell me I’m crazy for wanting to install a row of shelves along the ceiling in the loft for the cats. “We still have to put up the cat shelf.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and wipe my tears.
“Come on, baby. I know it hurts. But you can do this. You can fight this. Please, don’t go. You can fight this, I know it.”
But he doesn’t. His eyes don’t open. His fingers don’t twitch. The beeps from the heart monitor grow further apart.
“Jake!” I call, shaking his hand. Tears stream down my face and fall onto him. I lift his arm and put his hand over my heart. “Take mine! Take anything you need. Take it all. Please…please, baby.” I hang my head, sobbing.
A hand lands on my shoulder. “Your mother is on her way,” Mrs. Williams says. She stays there, hand on my shoulder until the nurse comes back in, asking if we had more contact information for Jake. Always prepared, Jake had the proper documents folded and kept in his wallet that listed me as his emergency contact and power of attorney if need be. Seeing situations just like this in the ER made him prepare for the worst.
The worst wasn’t supposed to happen.
Mrs. Williams leaves the room to help the nurse get Jake’s mom’s number. I hug Jake tighter, willing him to come back to me.
“I’m not going to give up on you,” I whisper through my tears. “You can pull through this. I know you can. I love you so much.”
The heart monitor gives off a series of rapid beats. I shoot up and look at it. The line spiked three times. Oh my God. He’s coming back.
“Jake, baby!”
I wait. Come on…come on…
But nothing comes.
Nothing, except the last heartbeat.
* * *
My house is on our family’s property, same as my sister’s, but unlike hers, mine isn’t new. It’s the original Belmont farmhouse, the one
all nine of my ancestors crammed into when they first took up farming and made a name for themselves. It’s not fancy like the historic plantation house my parents reside in. It has no ostentatious facade, no grand staircase or granite kitchen island big enough to seat a dozen people.
It’s small yet quaint, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. You can feel the history when you walk in, pressing on you from all sides of the brick house. The necessary updates have been done to make the space livable, of course. The entire first floor is modernized, with the latest update being a total kitchen remodel that Jake and I did ourselves this past Christmas. Well, mostly ourselves. And by that, I mean I picked out farmhouse kitchens on Pinterest and he approved the final design. We ripped out the old cabinets and let the professionals take it from there.