Feel (30 page)
Authors: Karen-Anne Stewart
I’m still figuring out who that is, but I know I am never going to fail her.
I know I am her protection.
I am the man she chose.
The one she’s promising the rest of her life to.
I am who will give up everything to take away her pain.
I may not be the man she so innocently exalts me to be, but I will spend my last breath trying to be him. She deserves for me to be him and, with her next to me, she gives me the strength to be who she needs.
It’s so much easier to say who she is.
She is my soul.
No one can make me feel like I do when Saige smiles at me, like I do seeing her holding her hand out for me to take right now, just like she did thirteen years ago. Her love holds me so high, I want to sweep her in my arms and never come back down when she tangles her fingers up in mine. “You look – damn – Saige,” I stumble over my words seeing her standing in front of me in her wedding dress, “better than breathtaking.”
The soft pink of her cheeks brightens, making me want to pull her into my arms and hold her until I understand every simple, complicated, beautiful piece of her.
I give my vows, backing each one with all of me.
She’s officially pronounced my wife, and I wrap my hands around her waist, picking her up and pressing her soft, sweet body against my chest. She looks down at me, laughing, as I tilt my chin, looking up into those happy caramel eyes. Her long, soft curls fall around our faces as our mouths collide. I may be the one who has beat the shit out of every man who has tried to harm her, but she’s the one who brings me to my knees.
“What are you grinning about?” she asks, dipping her tongue into my mouth when I claim hers.
“Just thinking about how I plan on spending the rest of my life with you.”
“Are you starting with thinking about tonight?” she teases.
“Not planning on waiting that long,” I wink, grazing her bottom lip between my teeth before we tear ourselves away long enough to be introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Rider to the gang who already knew she was mine.
Taking her hand, we start to walk down the aisle for the reception, but she stops, brushing her fingers across the leather bracelet that hasn’t left her arm since I put it there. “Can I ask you to do something, Jensen?”
“I’ll do anything you ever ask of me,” I respond truthfully, trailing my fingers across the soft skin of her wrist.
“Make me always feel like this.”
She laughs, throwing her arms around my neck, when I sweep her into my arms, “I’ll make you feel everything,” I swear. “I’m going to give you every damn piece of me to feel, pretty girl.”
Author of New Adult Romance who doesn’t shy away from writing about sensitive issues and hot heroes.
Karen-Anne Stewart has always adored reading and has now fallen in love with writing. Her written works are The Rain Trilogy: Saving Rain, Healing Rain, and After the Rain, and the newly released standalone novel, Ash to Steele. Her debut novel, Saving Rain: The First Novel in The Rain Trilogy, was a nominee for the Book Junkie’s Choice Awards, and Saving Rain and After the Rain were nominees for the 2014 RONE awards.
When Karen-Anne isn’t writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and friends, hiking, and visiting new places. She fuels her addiction of creating new stories by her only other addiction, caffeine, and listening to a myriad of musical genres. Tucked away near the Blue Ridge Mountains, Karen-Anne lives with her husband, daughter, three dogs, and their cat. She plans on writing new adult romance as long as her fingers maintain dexterity.
Readers can connect with Karen-Anne at www.karen-annestewart.com.
For all the fans of Breck and Emma’s story in Ash to Steele, I’m thrilled to announce that the sexy, badass bouncer, Gavin, will have his own story in 2015! For all the readers who haven’t yet met the sexy, tattooed-bad-boy, Breck, and the sweet, preacher’s daughter, Emma, you can read the prologue and first chapter of their powerful love story below:
Emma
“I don’t understand why you have to leave?” The raw emotion in Dad’s voice cuts through me, feeding my already choking guilt.
Taking a deep breath, I blink the tears away, forcing myself to turn towards my father, “We’ve talked about this.”
He clears his throat, swallowing hard as he shifts my bag from one hand to the other. “It’s cold there in the winter.”
I suppress a chuckle at his practical tactic to get me to stay, “I know, Dad.”
One quick nod is his response. He’s usually my rock, has been since mom died when I was eleven. Dad has always been so strong, but now that strength has been broken...by me.
“You know you freeze in the winter.”
“I packed a heavy coat.”
“Justin loves you, Em. I’m not saying to marry the boy right away, just stay. Give him a chance. He’s got a good head on his shoulders and he has a great job; he’d provide you with a good life, honey.”
Dad’s words ring in my ears, doing nothing to ease my guilt. Letting out a soft sigh, I gaze out at the cornfield, watching the tops of the stalks blowing gently in the summer night breeze. I’m going to miss that. I’m going to miss Dad. God, I’m going to miss Dad.
“I know I would have a good life here, but I want more than you do.” Turning back around, I give him a pleading look, “I like Justin, but I’m not in love with him. I don’t want to settle. I want to fall head over heels in love.”
“That’s only an expression, Em. Just words.”
“I don’t believe that. Neither do you. I want what you and mom had.”
The sad look in his eyes renders my resolve not to cry pathetically useless. The back of my throat burns as tears escape, warming my cheeks and tickling my chin as they roll down my face.
“And you don’t think you can find that here?” His own tears well before he has time to blink them away, and my heart bleeds.
I look into his eyes, searching his, begging him to understand, “I can’t stay. I need more. I need passion!”
Dad shakes his head, giving me that smile he always gives me when he thinks that I’m clueless.
Rolling my eyes, I manage to cause him at least a miniscule smile.
“Hon, what do you know about passion?”
“Nothing, Dad, that’s the whole point,” I whisper.
Pulling me into his strong arms, I sink into his embrace, into his shelter, inhaling his unique scent of hay, leather, and Old Spice. Another lump forms in my throat when I think of how much I’m going to miss that, too.
“My daughter wants passion,” he chuckles. “Heaven help me, what would the congregation say?”
Loving my father immensely right know, I laugh, realizing that he just granted me his blessing, “I didn’t say that kind of passion, Dad.”
“Alright, Em, you go out into the world looking for what you think you need. I pray you find what you’re looking for, honey.” Sorrow dims his eyes, weakening my resolve.
“I will,” I tell him more forcefully than intended.
Unbearable silence fills the air. Dad cocks his head, giving me a chuck under my chin, “You are just like your mother, so stubborn, so independent.”
The words are meant as encouragement, his way of telling me it’s okay; he understands. I never knew guilt could cause physical pain until this moment.
Hoisting my duffle bag over his shoulder, he starts towards his old sedan, which is now mine, and slowly tosses the bag inside. His shoulders rise with deep breaths as he holds onto the doorframe. “I want you to know that, sometimes, what you think you want ends up biting you in the butt, Em. People have left since the beginning of time, spending their whole life moving from place to place looking for something they could’ve found in their own backyard. You always have a home here, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, Dad, I know,” I assure him, pushing back the tears and trying to suck it up as I throw my purse in the front seat before turning back to my father. “Like you always told me, I have to find out for myself. I love you, Dad.”
“You’re not supposed to use my own words against me.” He gives me a soft smile, the light in his eyes dimming further.
I watch as he stands there, looking at me, his headstrong twenty-two year old daughter getting ready to move to Boston, which might as well be across the world, according to Dad, and the ache in my heart is profound. When his hazel eyes mist, I can’t take it any longer and I throw myself into his arms, giving him one last long hug before wiping my own eyes and slipping into my beat-up maroon sedan and drive away.
The katydids sing loudly as dust rises on the way down the long dirt road, serenading my good-bye and sending a shot of nostalgia that punches me hard in the gut. Memories cling to me as I pass the pond I learned to swim in when I was five years old, the old willow tree my mother took me for picnics, and the large barn where Nick pushed me against the wall in the back when I was nine and gave me my first kiss; that memory makes me smile through my tears.
The summer breeze blows through the rolled down windows, causing my long chestnut hair to billow freely in the wind, and some of the guilt and sadness eases, replaced with a tingling anticipation. A part of me still wants to slam on the brakes and run back home, but most of me wants to leave,
needs
to leave, this small town that slowly suffocated me through high school. The thought of staying, always wondering ‘what if’ nearly chokes the life out of me, so I push harder on the gas pedal, sending more dust flying through the air as the tires roll over the gravel and dirt until I’m on the two lane, on my way to a life that doesn’t know me as simply Emma Michelle Jones, John Jones’ daughter, Justin’s girlfriend. No, I won’t be that girl, not anymore. I get to be whoever I want; now, I just have to figure out exactly who that is.
Don’t look back, Emma, don’t you dare look back
, I demand, refusing to even glance in the rearview mirror. This town gave me a good life. I was protected, sheltered, loved. That security is just as deceptive as it is comforting. If I allowed myself, I would follow the path most do and never move further than fifty miles from where I was raised. That’s the thing about small towns, we take care of our own, and we do a good job at it; there’s no need to leave. I guess I’m different. I don’t have that peace letting me know I’m where I’m supposed to be.
Despite my best attempt not to, I glance towards my old high school where I spent all four years being Justin’s girl, his shadow. All of the girls were jealous; they wanted to be me while I wanted to be anywhere else. I was hated, adored, revered, and secretly torn down being the girlfriend of the star quarterback who was the hottest boy in school. I wasn’t the most popular, but I wasn’t the least popular either; I was just
there
. I was the shy girl. The invisible girl. That changed when I started dating Justin.
Images of Justin attack me and I desperately try to push them away. I know he doesn’t deserve my leaving this way, deserting him when he always treated me like I was the most special person in the world. I don’t know of any other guy who would stay with a girl through high school, then college, when she didn’t have sex with him. That painful guilt slams into me again as I think of how he would ask but never pressure me, and how he would just pull me into his strong, reassuring arms when I would slowly shake my head and tell him I was sorry. His words sting as they race through my mind…
It’s alright, Em, you’re worth waiting for
. He waited all those years for nothing.
The tears pour as I’m assaulted by the look in his eyes last night. He was so broken, so blindsided, when I told him I was leaving. Anger surges through the guilt. How could he not know? How could he not realize what I was feeling if he really knew me that well? I told him so many times that I needed to experience more, but he talked me out of going away to college, and I let him.
The twenty-one mile commute to Furman every day further suffocated me. I loved the university, and I felt alive while I was there; I could taste the freedom. But that sweet taste was stripped away every day as I climbed back into my car and headed back towards home. I know I should be grateful for what I have, for all Dad has done for me, and I am, but I need more…so much more. I guess that’s selfish, but should it be? That’s the question that has plagued me since making the decision to finally break the shackles and run like hell. Selfish or not, it’s what I have to do. I dry my tears, throw my hair into a ponytail, and laugh as I crank up the radio when I hear Tim and Taylor crooning “Highway Don’t Care.” Fitting. Refusing to take the song as any kind of divine sign, I speed down the highway to finally find who I know I’m supposed to be.
