Loving Amber: Book 1 Riverstone Series - standalone (Riverstone Estate Series)

  LOVING AMBER © ROYA CARMEN, 2016

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. Copyright property of the author. No part of this content may be reproduced or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes without prior written permission from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and locations are either the product of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales, is purely coincidental.

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  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  More Books by Roya Carmen

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  “I didn't want to kiss you goodbye — that was the trouble — I wanted to kiss you good night — and there's a lot of difference.” ― Ernest Hemingway

  Sunday, June 9th, 1995

  Dear Diary,

  Lucky.

  That’s what they call me at school.

  Even my parents tell me I’m lucky. Everyone says so because I live in a gigantic house with a big beautiful garden and horses I get to ride. But I live in the middle of NOWHERE!

  Sure, it’s beautiful. Green fields and blue skies as far as the eye can see. There’s our estate. The closest house is Mrs. Kimble’s spooky old mansion across the street and a few small old farmhouses—the Rogers’ to our right and the McAnultys’ to our left.

  My brothers and I, and my little sister Ruby, sit on the school bus for thirty minutes, morning and afternoon! My big brother, Flynn, is usually glued to his Nintendo Game Boy the whole time. Ken and I, we make jokes, tell riddles, and kind of have fun. I feel bad for Ruby, but she seems happy just scribbling in her Care Bears colouring books. She’s sweet but extremely annoying. Mom says we need to be more patient with her, but sometimes she is such a pest.

  Because I live in the middle of nowhere, I have no friends. So I have no choice but to hang out with my brothers and their friends, Paul and Aiden. I like Paul. He’s always super nice to me. And I hate Aiden. HATE him! He is such a jerk! He does cruel things like blow up toads, and he steals from old Mrs. Kimble’s garden. He’s only two months older than me, but he insists on treating me like a baby.

  As my mom always says, “Beggars can’t be choosers.” They’re the only kids my age in the neighbourhood. Aiden Rogers to my left and Paul McAnulty to my right.

  But today, I’m so excited. I’m one of them. I’m officially a “blood brother” even though I’m a girl.

  It’s a big day for me—they finally let me into their pack. I’m so excited. I feel like I’m in The Outsiders—that’s a cool old movie my mom won’t let me see.

  I got in with cookies. It was that easy.

  They were just hanging out in the backyard last week. Flynn was shooting at old empty cans with his pellet gun. Aiden was shooting at squirrels, but luckily, they were too fast for him. I winced at the sight, carrying a tray of freshly baked peanut butter cookies. I held on to the platter, and with a sweet smile, I offered them up.

  “I have cookies,” I announced with a bright grin. “I just baked them. Peanut butter.”

  My brother Ken reached out, but I pulled the tray out of his reach real fast. He stared at me with wide eyes and a confused expression. I’m never usually mean to Ken. We’re “glued at the hip,” my dad likes to say. But that’s the way it is with twins.

  “Not so fast,” I scolded. “You don’t get to touch these until we talk.”

  Aiden closed in on us. “Talk about what? Just give us the stupid cookies, Carrot Top.”

  I had attracted all their attention now. Even my big brother Flynn, whose eyes were focused on the cans, peeked up.

  “Listen, boys,” I said, as loudly and as strongly as I could even though I was shaking inside. “I can make cookies every week: chocolate chip, gingerbread, shortbread.”

  They stared at me like I was crazy, but I sure had their attention.

  Paul shot me a big wide smile. “We’re listening.”

  “There’s no reason I can’t be part of your gang just because I’m a girl,” I pointed out. “I’m just as tough as you all. And I run faster than both Ken and Flynn.”

  Aiden smirked. “You still run like a girl, Carrot Top.”

  Raking a hand through his ginger hair, Flynn finally chimed in. “You might be fast, but you’re still a girl, Amber.”

  My chest felt heavy and my eyes were on the verge of tears—my own brother wasn’t on my side.

  “Cookies every week, guys,” Paul broke in with a huge smile and a spark in his blue eyes. “I don’t see what the big deal is. Let’s just let her in.”

  I love Paul so much! Really, he’s the real reason I want to be in their pack. But I could never let anyone know this. I need to make sure I lock my diary today. I forgot last time.

  “I’m cool with it too,” Ken agreed. I knew I could count on him—he’s my rock, my other half.

  Towering over me, Aiden stepped closer, so close I could smell his stinky dog on him. I don’t know if he meant to scare me, but I didn’t budge.

  “Cookie?” I asked.

  He frowned. “I don’t want her in.” His words were sharp and as cold as a Popsicle.

  Everyone was still for what seemed like eternity. I just wanted to crawl under a rock. I didn’t want to cry, but the lump in my throat was gigantic. I knew I couldn’t control it.

  “Oh… look at that… are you going to cry, Carrot Top?” Aiden prodded.

  “Let’s vote on it,” Paul suggested.

  Paul and Ken voted yes. Aiden voted no of course. The jerk! It was down to Flynn, my big brother, the one who looks exactly like me with his ginger hair and who acts exactly like me with his nerdy bookworm ways. C’mon, Flynn, I silently pleaded with my best puppy-dog eyes.

  He hesitated, shuffling his feet. “Uh… sure… why not?” he finally gave in. “Those cookies look good.”

  I did a little dance in my head, real careful to stop myself from jumping up and down. I could already see myself in that cool black T-shirt with the white felt letters. “The Misfits” on my flat chest and my name on the back. Aiden stared at me like he wanted to chop my head off.

  Today, we all got together in our tree house up in the old gigantic oak tree by the barn, and we did the official ceremony where I was “inducted” into the clan. I’m not sure what that means, but that’s the word Flynn used.

  Aiden pulled out his pocketknife, and each of us took a turn dicing the tip of our finger until we drew blood.
Aiden had to do mine because I wasn’t quite sure how it was done—I think he enjoyed seeing me squirm. I had a real hard time with it, but I tried not to let it show. I didn’t want them to call me a girl.

  I still can’t believe I got in with cookies. Boys are so easy to please.

  2015

  A huge grin stretches across her face as Ruby flips the page with a lick of her finger. Her huge bohemian earrings seem to dance as she gets lost in my words. “This is hilarious,” she says with a laugh.

  I snatch the diary from her hand.

  “You really hated Aiden,” she says, stating the obvious with a frown. “I don’t know what your problem was. I always thought he was nice.”

  I scowl as I open the dishwasher. What would she know? She’d never hung out with him. I’m happy to see my jars all clean, sanitized and ready to go.

  “So are we ready for this or what?” I hand her an elastic and a disposable hair net. “I need your hair in a bun and your hands thoroughly washed.”

  She smirks for a second, just the way she used to. My little sister hasn’t changed much at all. “You are so bossy, Amb,” she mutters as she makes her way to the powder room off the kitchen.

  “Someone has to be,” I call out behind her. “Someone needs to be in charge of this place.”

  Yes, that someone is definitely me. Me and Flynn. Flynn, the oldest of us four crazy kids, has always had a good head on his shoulders—he and I are the responsible ones. And Ruby and Ken have always been the “wild ones.”

  As I methodically line up the glass jars across the expansive counter, I accidentally drop one on the terra-cotta tiles, and it shatters to bits. I wince as I stare at the shards of glass littering the kitchen floor. Just what I need. I want to walk right into the pantry and scream at the top of my lungs. I’ve done it once or twice when no one was around. But instead, I suck in a deep breath, determined to be the strong woman everyone expects me to be.

  As soon as Ruby steps back into the kitchen, she drops to her knees to help.

  “Watch it,” I warn. “I’ll go fetch a broom.”

  As I painstakingly sweep the floor, I’m careful to catch every single shard. The last thing I need is Trevor cutting his toes. Ruby offers to help, but I shoo her away. Hands over the broom handle, I close my eyes. I can’t seem to get away from my thoughts.

  I can’t do this.

  I know I’m doing this for my father, for my family, for my son. But sometimes, I feel completely overwhelmed. I’m running a sprint. And I know exactly why I’m running. I’m running from the past. But I’m also running out of air.

  The floor swept and cleaned, I return to my glass jars. I study them as the sunlight coming from the kitchen window catches the edges of the rims, and I think about Paul and Ken. I miss them so much.

  I shake my head. I’m doing it again, thinking about them. My throat is thick, and my eyes are brimming. How many times am I going to do this? Part of me wants to forget. It’s just too painful to remember them. But of course, I could never forget them. Ken had been by my side from my first breath. Paul had always been close by too, for as long as I can remember.

  I scold myself. “Focus.”

  I have everything ready: the crushed fruit, the pots, spoons and ladles, sugar and pectin. Ruby makes her way around me, wearing a bright, infectious smile and her hair in a netted bun. My little sister is absolutely stunning, and she lights up every room she enters.

  “So whatever happened to Danielle Steel?” she asks with a smirk. “You used to read her books like they were going out of style. Now you’re reading your old diaries?”

  I shrug and say nothing. I don’t want to admit that I hate love stories now. I hate happily-ever-after endings because I know there is no such thing. I don’t want to admit that I’ve been reading my old diaries because it makes feel close to them. It’s the only way to be with them again.

  Ruby studies me with a serious expression. “I’m sorry.”

  She wraps her apron around her tiny waist. She knows. She knows she needs to be careful with me. Everyone has been walking on eggshells around me. She’s attempted to talk to me, but I’ve pushed her away. Even Flynn has tried to help, and if anyone could help me, it would be Flynn. But I haven’t let him in either.

  I’m not ready. It will be two years next week, but I’m just not ready to stop grieving. I’m not ready to let them go. I’m still numb. Some days I feel as though I’m not even alive. I’m just going through the motions. The only one who brings me joy is my little Trevor. Without him, I would fall apart.

  Ginger slithers her furry body around my legs, back and forth, tracing the number eight around my legs like a curious eel. I rescued her from the barn a while back. She didn’t seem to fit in with the other cats. Though she was skittish, she wasn’t quite as rough around the edges as the others. Garfield-orange, so I called her Ginger—not very original, I know. She loves to get tangled in my feet while I cook.

  Ruby bends down to pet her. “Hey, sweetie,” she coos. “You want a little attention, don’t you?”

  I groan a little as I stare at the ceiling, and my eyes practically roll to the back of my head. “Ruby.”

  “What?” she says, completely oblivious.

  “Go wash your hands again. Our customers won’t appreciate cat hair in their strawberry jam.”

  She smiles, all the while rolling her eyes at me. “I’ll be right back.”

  When she gets back to my side, I elbow her in the ribs. “Ready, little sis?”

  I show her how to make my famous strawberry jam from scratch. I have a lot to teach her. I study her as she, attentive and eager, assists me in all the tasks involved; she’s a quick learner. We tease her mercilessly because she can be kind of a ditz sometimes, but I know how smart and passionate she really is.

  She gives me the sweetest of smiles. “I’m glad we’ve decided to keep the place, Amb.”

  “Me too.” I think about all the work this place requires. I have to try not to think about how overwhelmed I feel sometimes. “But just wait until I get you to work.”

  She lets out a nervous giggle. She doesn’t quite know what I’ve got in store for her.

  My poor little sister. Just last week, she abandoned her loft on Queen Street in Toronto and the arty bohemian lifestyle she led with her musician boyfriend, Jimmy, when she caught him playing a foxy blond as if she were his keyboard. Now Ruby’s stuck in the country with us. She’s here to help us, and we’re here to help her get over him. The truth is Flynn, Ruby, and I help each other because that’s what siblings do. Especially now that there’s just the three of us.

  Two years later, I still remember it clear as day. But of course, that makes sense. We remember the good times, but the bad times always stick too. And the worst times—well, they play in our heads, over and over, tormenting our souls and making us fall one step behind every time we struggle to move forward.

  I’ll never forget.

  Truth is I wish I had been more plastered that night. Maybe then I wouldn’t remember anything. Unfortunately, I wasn’t drunk enough. I wasn’t as wasted as Ken or Paul. I should have been the one driving. If only I could go back in time and take the wheel or take the keys from Ken or call us all a cab.

  But hindsight is twenty-twenty. If I could go back… Trevor would still have a dad. Amber would still have a husband and would still be glued to her twin brother—her “other half.” Two of the greatest guys I’ve ever met would still walk the earth, even if it meant they were here instead of me. I shouldn’t be taking another step. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve shit.

  Funny how at the time, I had been only a few days away from marrying Melissa, yet I hardly think about her anymore. Sometimes I feel bad for Melissa. I really do. She was a nice girl and pretty as fuck—blond and blue-eyed, a knockout body. We had fun together. She made me laugh, and she was sweet. I told myself she was the package deal—pretty, smart, and fun.

  Amber and Paul had been married for seven years
and had a kid together. It was time for me to get over her and move on with my life, maybe have a kid of my own, so I asked Melissa to marry me. I planned to be faithful to her, to be a good husband, a good father. She deserved it. I still remember the huge smile she gave me when I asked her and she said yes.

  Six months later, I found myself with a feisty brunette all over me, her boobs dangling in front of my face, her hips straddling my legs. She didn’t turn me on, but the guys had bought me a five-minute lap dance—it was the thing to do. I was a good sport as I enjoyed my last hours of wild freedom and filthy indulgence, a beer in one hand, a ten-dollar bill in the other. Truth is she wasn’t even my type, but the woman had to make a living. I laughed, and Paul, Flynn, and Ken cheered me on as I slipped the bill in her thong.

  We were all kind of tipsy as we stumbled out of the club. I wasn’t too drunk—I had been too distracted to drink as much as I usually did. But that was my first fatal mistake—because I wasn’t wasted, I underestimated how drunk everyone else was.

  We had driven to the club in Ken’s old Sebring—we obviously hadn’t thought things through. The drive back home was a good fifteen minutes on country roads. I was crashing at the estate that night—Melissa was having a girls’ night at our place.

  Ken pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Soooo, how does it feel… just a few nights of freedom left?”

  I laughed then looked back at Paul stumbling behind me. “Hey guys, maybe we should call a cab. We’re all pretty plastered.”

  Ken shook his head. “We’re gooood. It ain’t the first time I’ve driven a little tipsy.”

  I considered his words for a minute. I let them rattle around in my brain, which was a little fuzzy. He was right. It was, after all, just country roads—we’d be fine.

  “Well, let me drive at least,” I suggested, reaching for his keys.

  He pulled them out of my reach with an exaggerated chuckle. “No way you’re driving my car, buddy.”

  “No shit,” Paul called out behind me. “After what happened last week, I wouldn’t let you drive my car either.”

  He was talking about the minor fender bender I’d had—the reason my truck was in the shop. It had been my fault—I was tired and distracted. I knew Ken wasn’t going to budge, so I got in the passenger seat without a second thought. I threw my head back and closed my eyes. I remember having a splitting headache and thinking that it was probably a good thing I wasn’t driving.