Waiting for You Read online

  Waiting for You

  A novel by Shey Stahl

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, sponsors, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, dead or living, is coincidental.

  The opinions expressed in this book are solely those of the.

  Warning: This book is not suitable for anyone under the age of seventeen. This books contains explicit and detailed sexual encounters, explicit language and drug and alcohol use between minors. Please be warned.

  Waiting for You

  Copyright © 2013 by Shey Stahl

  Published in the United States of America

  EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement including infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250.000.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of Shey Stahl.

  Cover Art: Okay Creations and Sarah Hansen

  Interior Design: Shey Stahl Productions

  Editing and Proof-reading: Barb Nejman and Linda Knight

  http://sheystahl.blogspot.com/

  Twitter: @SheyStahl

  Facebook: Shey Stahl

  Additional novels by Shey Stahl:

  Racing on the Edge: Happy Hour, Black Flag, Trading Paint, The Champion and The Legend

  Song Lyrics: Brei Betzold (Tease and Fear)

  Acknowledgments:

  Thank you to my husband who is my biggest fan. You know this, but you are my world. I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to follow this dream. You are my best friend, my heart and soul is with you.

  Honey girl, all this is for you sweet cheeks. Mommy loves you more than anything. You’re a little jerk sometimes but I love you despite your 3-year-old attitude.

  My mom, dad and sister, thank you for your support. It’s the best feeling in the world to know I have your support.

  My girls, Callie (You’re fucking amazing!), Erin, Lisa, Michelle, Chris, Melissa and Daina, thank you. I couldn’t write without your help. I know I cancel on plans often, and never answer your text messages, to meet deadlines and live in a fictional world but I love you girls very much. And yes, I never answer my phone or return voicemails but you know I don’t like my phone very much and you still talk to me. Love my girls!

  Linda Knight, thank you for always talking me through my deepest fears in writing and giving me great feedback. You mean a lot to me!

  Gearheads and the Hooker Hood (aka BookSluts), a group of girls that love me unconditionally and know how truly awesome I am. Any time I need advice or someone to talk to, they are always there! Megan (My girl), Judie (My Judity), Laura (My BFF), Kari (My other BFF), Dianna (My biggest fan), Nikee, Michelle, Jamie, Heather, Danielle, Jenn, Brooke, Kristina, Drita…there are so many more but those are just a few of the frequent flyers in my world.

  The bloggers who spread the word, Stick Girl Book Reviews, Maryse’s Book Blog, Totally Booked, Smardy Pants, kindlehooked, The Book Hookers, Shh Mom’s Reading, Mocha’s, Mysteries and More, Sugar and Spice Book Reviews, C & C Book Blok and all the others that constantly pimp me out.

  To the authors who are always there for support and questions: Brei Betzold, Megan Smith, Heidi McLaughlin, Rebecca Thein, Alexandra Richland and Alina Stoicia-Man.

  The artists who inspired this story: Alice in Chains, Framing Hanley, Theory Of A Deadman, Snow Patrol, Coldplay, Saving Abel, The Rolling Stones, Kings Of Leon and The White Strips. I love my music!

  And most importantly, thank you to my readers who stand by me for a good love story with a happy ending. Enjoy the story.

  This book is dedicated to Barb Nejman. Without her hard work on this novel it wouldn’t have been finished as quickly as it was. Thank you for your love of reading and helping an author just because you wanted to!

  It’s all make believe, isn’t it?

  Marilyn Monroe

  1. Perfectly Planned Out – Bailey Gray

  As light pierces the dark sky, the feeling crept deeper in my bones, no longer a thought but a burning desire to want more, feel more, love more. Sitting on the edge of my window watching the rising sun, I knew the thoughts I had were twisting, just like the changes in the sky.

  Just like the sky, a change, a thought, a feeling, doesn’t happen right away, for me anyway.

  You don’t see it at first. It’s nothing but chalky warmth, a glow in the distance, completely humbled to the magnificence of Helios. As the dawn starts to shake the ash from night, revealing the bright red scarlet of morning that ran riot in the sky, a decision is set, but you don’t know it. There’s something refreshing about a sunrise, it’s just as unpredictable what a new day would bring.

  There’s a moment, a brief moment, before it harks upon the dark, spilling golden light upon the hills, penetrating even the deepest forest, breaking the deeper shades to lighter.

  What would you do for a piece of forever? What would you do to love more, feel more, and live more?

  Sighing, I twisted on the windowsill to look over my room scattered with memories of a childhood that wasn’t mine. All of this was a childhood that had been scripted for a girl, but not me.

  When you’re eighteen, you know your future is supposed to be unpredictable, unplanned, and open to whatever.

  That is unless you’re me, Bailey Gray.

  I’d like to say that this is a story about a girl who took the path less chosen and it ended up being the right one but I’d probably be lying. That picture of me on the cover, the one bathed in my favorite light of the day is pretty much the only field of daisy’s this story has. Underneath it, in the shadows of the light, was a darkness that I soon found killed those daisy fields. Hell, if you were to pick a cover, it should have been dark with smoky ice blue.

  “Bailey, it’s time to go.”

  Taking a deep breath, I tucked my speech away in my book bag. Before leaving my room, I gave my window one last look, the same window I spent every morning, wondering if this morning would be my last one there. I’m not sure why, but that gut feeling, the one I felt deep in my bones told me it would be.

  As I turned the corner and stepped down the wooden staircase, the ones I had rushed down so many times before class each morning. I wasn’t rushed now, because the future that was decided for me wasn’t one that I was sure of anymore.

  That was the day of my high school graduation.

  After spending the last eighteen year’s working toward a goal it was finally here. I had graduated high school with honors. I was the class valedictorian of our 2011 graduating class with, perfect grades, perfect friends, perfect boyfriend, and essentially the perfect life.

  I once spent three hours setting up my camera on the beach to photograph the sunset, planning the exact moment when the lighting would be exactly the way I wanted it only to have it turn out blurry.

  My life was somewhat similar when you think about it. Perfectly planned and then the photograph you’re left with isn’t remotely what you’d planned for. Maybe it’s worse or maybe it’s better.

  The perfection is all in theory though. It’s like looking at a
photograph and only seeing what the camera captured. Inside, and maybe a little on the outside, I couldn’t stand my life. That’s an understatement I actually hated my life. Everything was planned out for me since birth. I had to go to a certain pre-school, the perfect grade school, the perfect middle school, and eventually the same high school my parents went to, Tumwater High School. Most days I wanted to scream at how planned-out my life really was.

  I wasn’t allowed to shop for my clothes for Christ sakes.

  My mother, Kimberly Gray, was head of the PTA, on the city council and blah freaking blah. She made me insane but her mother was even worse. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with either one of them for more than ten minutes without wanting to strangle her. You know the Madagascar movie where the chubby penguin tells the other penguins to smile and wave.

  That was me smile and wave. Don’t ask questions, just smile and wave. This theory worked well for me for years.

  My dad, Jeff Gray, the Mayor of Tumwater, was tolerable, more than my mother was, but then again in a room with him for more than ten minutes, I wanted to shoot myself, execution style. He had this way of talking at you rather than to you as most politicians did. I absolutely hated that. If he didn’t want to hear what I had to say, why even ask?

  He did that with everyone. He would ask my brother how his day was only to have him lose interest and then start talking about his own day. Who does that?

  Now I know I seem to have a lot of pent up frustration but if you lived in my house, you would understand.

  My little brother, Jeb, was cool but I could see he was a model figure of my father and never stepped out of line. At thirteen, you’d expect the kid to be getting into some sort of shenanigans but no, nothing. Sometimes I wondered if I was even their child and should I have this much resentment?

  Surely, it can’t be normal, right?

  Growing up my parents picked my friends, certain people were not allowed to be associated with and others, well, they were practically shoved down my throat. Like my so-called best friend Mercedes Grant.

  Doesn’t the name say it all?

  When I think of a Mercedes Grant, I think of a stuck up bitch who owns daddy’s money, right?

  That’s exactly how Mercedes was. She wasn’t a good friend, though I called her my best friend, and on more than one occasion, I’ve caught her eyeing my boyfriend, Eric.

  Mercedes, was beautiful with her rich dark brown hair and exotic appearance, she was what most considered sexy and could have any guy she wanted, including my boyfriend, if she desired.

  Eric James was another thing that was forced upon me by my father. Eric’s father and mine were best friends and met every Sunday for golf. This meant Eric was pushed upon me whether I wanted it or not.

  Once in high school Eric asked me out our freshman year and by high school standards we’ve been dating ever since. He was the football player and I was the high school cheerleader destined to be with him, right?

  Eric was nice guy. You could say that and I would agree with you. As the captain of the football team, he was the star quarterback and had the looks to go with it, blondish brown hair, chocolate syrup eyes and a flirty full of life smile.

  “Oh Bailey, your hair is messed up.” My mother fussed with me, slightly irritated that my long ginger locks were out of place. I didn’t miss the note of pride in her voice and it annoyed me for reasons I didn’t understand. It was my hair, yet she thought it was hers.

  One thing I did love about myself was my thick dark ginger hair. It was beautiful, naturally highlighted, but had a mind of its own which made it unique. If I had to guess, I was pretty by most people’s standards, but I didn’t think I was over the top by any means. Wherever I went, people stared at me, which made me very uncomfortable but I always thought they stared because of my car or clothes that seemed out of place for a small town such as the sleepy northwest rain stricken, Tumwater. An hour south of Seattle, Tumwater didn’t exactly scream money but there were people who had it.

  “It’s fine mom,” I said dryly with a smile and trying to be nice, remembering my smile and wave tactics. “Please stop touching me.”

  “It looks fine dear. She looks beautiful.” My dad acknowledged as he walked into the kitchen where we were standing. His dark gray suit pressed to perfection complementing his slender form and dark ginger waves that matched my own. “You’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

  My dad insisted on being twenty minutes early for everything. He was always this way. Imagine showing up for your first day of kindergarten twenty minutes early. It was incredibly awkward at times trying to be the cool kid that rolled in late. I was never that.

  “I’m ready.” I told them with another smile reaching for my cap and gown on the table.

  As we pulled out of the driveway in my dad’s BMW, I glanced across the street to see my rebel of a neighbor getting in his piece of shit ‘68 Pontiac GTO. I guess it wasn’t really a piece of shit car, it was a rather nice classic car, but it smelled like alcohol and burned your eyes if you got too close to it.

  My dad said it was because he used illegal gas in it but I didn’t know for sure nor did I care for that matter. Dylan Wade, the rebel as I referred to him, never talked to me anymore and wouldn’t even look my direction. I guess I understood why.

  Dylan and I were friends when we were younger. He was my first kiss, a kiss that absorbed the suns glow, but when he started rebelling against his dad when his mom died, that was the end of our friendship.

  My dad refused to let me associate with him any longer when he set all the mailboxes on our street on fire on Christmas Eve the same year his mom died. It was actually a beautiful sight to see, but the neighbors weren’t too happy. I always thought his pranks were humorous.

  Like the time he took clear fishing line and strung it up across the sidewalk. No one could figure out why they kept tripping near his house. He had everyone convinced he cast some kind of spell on them. I laughed. It was funny. I always had a lot of entertainment from Dylan. We had a number of classes together but he rarely showed for any of them these days.

  Since Dylan turned eighteen in October, he seemed to have been getting in more trouble after being charged with starting a riot at the school dance that spread to the streets. He also set the school gym on fire―twice―and then, though no one had any proof, nearly destroyed the city hall when he strapped M80’s to John Warner’s car, the Prosecuting Attorney for Thurston County.

  No one was hurt but word on the street was that Dylan Wade did that and no one questioned it. It was something Dylan would have done.

  Dylan was good at not getting caught. Some would say that if being a criminal were a profession, Dylan Wade would have a career in it.

  It broke my heart that we had lost touch with each other but it never stopped me from watching him. In all fairness, I was a tad “stalkerish” when it came to Dylan Wade.

  How could I not be? Dylan was Dylan. He was my first love. Even at seven, I knew I loved him. He was my first kiss, the only boy that matter back when watermelon bubble gum and the smells of summer were my only thoughts. Every thought from my childhood had Dylan in it. Every memory had a tie to him in some way.

  Once we arrived at Saint Martin’s College where our graduation was being held, Eric found me with his bright smile that made most girls at our school blush. It stopped working on me a few years ago. “Hey babe, you ready for your speech?”

  “Aren’t I always?” I replied with a fake smile. I was good at fake smiles. As I spoke, I felt a rush rise in my gut and my cheeks flush with anger, an anger I never understood.

  Maybe it had to do with graduation and more to do with what followed graduation. I’m not sure.

  “Yes—you’re perfect,” he replied pulling me into a hug. “Are you ready for the lake tonight?”

  I kissed his cheek, automatic, controlled movements. “Sure, when do we leave?”

  Something happened to me when I kissed his cheek. I
felt nothing. I didn’t feel a spark or any type of connection to him.

  Wasn’t I supposed to feel something?

  “Right after the ceremony,” Eric answered looking over his shoulder at Mercedes walking toward us.

  The plan was for us to go to Lake Washington, a place we partied at often, for the weekend with our friends to celebrate graduation. Eric’s dad had a houseboat that he kept there.

  After graduation, I was all set to attend Dartmouth in the fall with Mercedes. Eric would be at the University Of Notre Dame some thirteen hours away and part of me was okay with that. I honestly wasn’t sure our relationship would make it past this summer let alone a long distance one.

  Kasey Henley, Mercedes’s boyfriend, who I actually adored, was heading to the University of Washington on a football scholarship. Kasey was the most likable guy at our school and had issues like everyone else. I think that’s what made him so real and likeable. You knew he wasn’t perfect.

  Our sophomore year Kasey got a DUI when he was driving home from a party and nearly lost his license over it, and, in turn, almost didn’t get the scholarship. Reality set in and Kasey worked hard and proved that he could turn his life around and he did, despite the trouble he got into and was now heading to college with a full ride to play football for UW.

  Everyone had college plans, including me but deep down, I didn’t want to go to college. I didn’t understand the pressure to go to college. Was it because that’s what society wanted? Is there something to be said for that diploma as opposed to actual on the job training? What did college offer that experience didn’t?

  Even with my thoughts today, it wasn’t long before I found myself being ushered in the gymnasium to give my speech. The only problem was that I threw away the only speech I had prepared. To me it just didn’t seem good enough anymore.

  When I approached the podium, I saw my grandparents with their bright smiles. My parents, my brother, Eric, Mercedes, Kasey and the rest of our superficial friends.