Authors: Kahlen Aymes
Before Ryan Was Mine
The Remembrance Trilogy
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Before Ryan Was Mine: The Remembrance Trilogy—Prequel
Copyright © 2014 Kahlen Aymes
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ISBN: 978-1-941536-93-3 (eBook)
ISBN: 978-1-941536-94-0 (paperback)
After all of the love and adoration that has poured in for Ryan and Julia, I have been inundated with requests for more of their love story. I thank you for that. I write for you, but you inspire me to write. I am humbly grateful to each and every one of you who take time out of your busy lives to spend time with the characters my words create. I can’t express how much it means to me to know you love these two that much. I also love them dearly, and I hope it shows.
This prequel, though written after
The Remembrance Trilogy
was completed, may be read before or after the series. It’s a series of scenes, in chronological order, that tell the story of their college years... A peek at how they met and became “Ryan and Julia.”
Whether you are a new reader, just meeting them, or someone who knows them well, I hope you enjoy their beginning…
Thank you, again, from the bottom of my heart.
Dedicated solely to my readers…
RYAN IS MINE
Before Ryan Was Mine
The Remembrance Trilogy
The biggest moment of my life found me unexpectedly. It crept up softly, and settled around me like a fuzzy blanket. A mere whisper; it hit me like a sledgehammer. At the time, I knew it was significant, but I didn’t realize just how those few seconds would change absolutely everything. How could one brief glance leave such an indelible stamp on the remainder of my life? It would become a contradiction; an unstoppable force that would send me reeling out of my control, churning and shredding my emotions, but creating the most incredible contentment I’d ever feel. Contentment that could wrap me up in a warm, safe place or devastate me to the core and leave my heart in shambles. It would become years of want and pain, lust and love… It would hurt like the deepest hell but become the most euphoric and precious ecstasy I’d ever know.
It would wreck me. It would
I’d never forget that day, that moment; that glance. The auditorium was huge, like a massive theater, with throngs of young bodies milling around trying to find seats; bustling with activity. Only, it wasn’t the premier of Harry Potter or one of those damn Twilight movies. It was Stanford University and Psychology 101, required curricula for practically every undergraduate student.
, my brain protested. No matter what your major, whether you were pre-med or planning a future on Wall Street, you had to take some dumbass form of psychology for your liberal arts requirement. Boring as hell to me, but whatever. I had plans to attend med school, and this course was the most basic psych class. Normally, I had no interest in basic anything, but it was the next best thing to skipping it, which I’d choose if I could. I’d heard it was super easy, which explained why so many students enrolled. Community Health Psychology—even the title was vague.
Aaron had taken it the semester before and whined the whole time because he wasn’t lucky enough to take it with the most preferred professor in the department; Dr. Gerrity. We’d heard to make the course tolerable, he was the only choice for instructor. I would have taken it with my brother, but the class was closed by the time I’d gotten around to the scheduling session. I didn’t make the same mistake this time, but my enthusiasm was at an all-time low, despite landing one of Gerrity’s classes.
I scanned for a seat toward the back, near the main entrance. The hell if I wanted to participate, anyway. I just wanted to show up, sign in, take the tests, and ace the fucker. That was my plan.
That’s what was expected; by my parents and myself; so that’s what I did— ace shit. School was always easy and, good or bad, the knowledge made me slightly arrogant about it.
I fully expected the first two years of undergrad to be fluff and loaded up on credit hours so that later, when I had lab, my ass wouldn’t be dragging. I’d even gotten special permission from the dean to take three hours beyond the max class load. My father and I discussed it and decided it was better to have more out of the way, early on, so I could take more difficult courses that would secure my future plans—Harvard Medical School—after I’d declared my major sophomore year. We’d shared the same goal for as long as I could remember. You didn’t get there by taking the bare minimums in anything and if Dad had done one thing, he’d drilled that into me; work your ass off and never expect success to be handed to you. So far, I hadn’t had to work that hard, if I were being honest. But, I knew it was only a matter of time. He’d gone to Harvard years earlier and while that would help, neither of us expected an easy in. Anyway, I wouldn’t want it that way. I’d earn every piece of it or it wouldn’t mean shit.
My parents offered the same opportunities to my adopted brother, Aaron. When we were ten his parents were killed in a car accident, he moved in with us, and we grew up together. He was the best friend I’d ever had.
Aaron struggled and had to work harder than I did; always had. I felt bad that it was more difficult for him and tried to help whenever I could; especially with math. So far, we’d only had to take first semester calculus, which to me was just a repeat of my senior year in high school. This semester was trigonometry and I wasn’t looking forward to that at all. It was the most boring part of my requirements, other than this liberal arts crap, but whatever, it was necessary.
“I hear Dr. Gerrity is hot. Let’s sit more toward the front so we can get a good look,” a girl with short, black hair and a red mini-skirt giggled as she moved past me.
Apparently, she had her own reasons for taking this class. I rolled my eyes.
For fuck’s sake!
I was a red-blooded male and as such, I wasn’t immune to the opposite sex. I’d had it easy in that arena with no shortage of girlfriends or willing partners. Sometimes they were too willing… to the point of annoying. Mini-skirt girl was pretty, but my eyes landed on the back of another young woman walking behind the one who was hot for the professor. She had long, flowing dark hair that looked like a shiny, slick river of dark chocolate as she moved. It was smooth and looked very soft, dropping almost to the middle of her back. My eyes moved lower toward her denim-encased ass. Her waist was small and the curve of her hips flowed deliciously out to place emphasis on the bedazzled pockets I was staring at. There was an “M” embroidered on one side. My lips twitched in the start of a grin as it struck me; “M” was for Matthews. It had to be a sign. I needed to talk to this girl or I’d regret it. Regardless, if it meant something or not, didn’t matter.
It was a sign,
my subconscious argued as I talked myself into it
I grinned because I couldn’t fucking help myself.
I picked up the backpack I’d just placed in one of the seats near the aisle and followed the two women further down. For all I knew, she could be a troll and I should rein in my eagerness until I knew for sure. How fucking disappointing would that be? A troll with a stellar ass, maybe, but I hadn’t seen her face. Then she spoke, her voice soft, almost musical, but adamant. I knew I had to meet her.
“Ellie, he’s old, and I don’t wanna sit in the front. This class is gonna suck as it is. We’ll have to join discussions up there, and you know how much I hate this shit.”
“Please?” her friend lamented.
“No! I can’t put up with you and the others batting their eyelashes at Dr. Gerrity. It’s embarrassing!”
Even though her words might come off as whining, somehow, it didn’t seem way. The same words from someone else would have, but with this girl it was more like a statement of fact: a verbal bitch-slap; to the point and without drama. I loved it.
She stopped and half-turned and I got the first glimpse of her profile. My heart paused for a beat. She was stunning: high cheekbones, delicate features with a slight blush to her cheeks and dusky pink lips. Her skin seemed flawless—creamy perfection. If it weren’t for her casual dress, I’d have placed her from some highbrow, rich-bitch, old money crowd. Her breasts were full, but not overly large for her frame. I sucked in my breath to start breathing again. Yep. I definitely needed to find out who she was. Good thing I wasn’t the shy type.
“Look, if you want to go ogle the dude, go ahead, but I’m staying up here.”
I smiled, stifling a laugh. Definitely not highbrow. I was elated. She moved into a row about six ahead of me and I searched the surrounding seats. There was one open just behind her to her right. It would give me the prefect vantage point to observe, undetected. There was something about her that intrigued me. I could almost see her intelligence as if it were written like a sign on her shirt.
“Mouth breathers and bottom feeders to the left.”
People brushed by me, and I was knocked in the shoulder as a larger guy passed. I barely noticed, my focus still on the girl as she moved into the row of seats I’d targeted.